#but! I’ve got something akin to a sweater now

[thatonceandfutureprat]

Knitting is a more emotional journey than you’d expect.

#curiosity excitement apprehension pain frustration disappointment avoidance acceptance determination and a lot of fear #is the current process of the past 4 years #but! I’ve got something akin to a sweater now #just gotta finish…the yoke…with three extra colours…. #*sweats nervously*

[moral-terpitude]

Misadventures - Part 3

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1,688

A/N: i went for a portfolio review for an apprenticeship the other day, and got to watch a tattoo get done while I was there! I had this wrote first, but the part about forehead wrinkles is no joke! I wasn’t even doing anything and I was tired by the time I left! This took me so long to write and it is so short 😭

so what's left to do · what’s left to say · stop making friends, just us · I'll decompose with you

By the time 7 hours had passed, Quinn was satisfied with the progress they had made. All the outlining was done, and with the wrinkle between her brows now permanently etched there from the face she made when she focused, amongst all the other ways her body was protesting, despite them taking a break every hour or so, the color would have to wait for another day.

“Okay,” she wiped down the irritated skin as gently as she could, which unfortunately was far from gentle, “the saniderm needs to stay on for three days. Any fluid pooling underneath is normal, but if the seal breaks it needs to be removed. Instead of removing it like a bandaid,” she continued giving the memorized speech as she applied the clear film carefully, “stretch the film to break the adhesive so it doesn’t remove any of the ink. Everything else is carefully articulated on those papers, because anything I seem to tell people that goes beyond three days of aftercare, they seem to forget, so, it’s on the paper.”

She heard him chuckle as she finished pressing all the air out of the clear film. Quinn hadn’t noticed until then as he stood there with his head hung, letting her go about her business as she absentmindedly let her eyes wander along the curve of his neck, that he smelled so good. Something warm, woodsy, a hint of vanilla maybe, too.

The music had stopped long ago, which meant the disgruntled grumble her stomach let out, was heard by them both.

Discarding the gloves and all the other tainted supplies into the hazmat bin, Quinn sprayed down and wiped all the surfaces that could possibly be sanitized, before turning off the big light over her workstation.

She stretched, checking her phone before heading back to the closet to retrieve the sweater.

“Here, I should probably return this to its owner.”

“Thanks.” Now with clothes readjusted and redressed, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth could have knocked the wind out of her.

Tommy followed her to the front of the shop, settling the last thing hanging over their heads for the day: money. Quinn counted the bills, nails clacking against the counter before tucking it away in the safe under the counter.

“So, technically, we could have started on color and shading today, but, that would have been a lot,” she tapped through her phone calendar, not wanting to boot the computer back up to go into the shop planner, “healing time, is about two to three weeks, but I think a little longer would be better,” Quinn looked up to see him nodding intently, “I think six to eight weeks would probably be best.”

“Can we go nine? I know I’m not going to be available at the tail end of that timeframe.”

“Hmm,” she scrolled further through the calendar and the haunting reminder of her sisters upcoming marriage stared at her, nine weeks away, “I’ll have to push it out to ten. Or we can go seven.”

“Ten is good.” Tommy agreed, trying to focus and ignore the way her hips were pressed into the lower part of the counter in a familiar fashion, as they deliberated a date and time before coming to a decision they could agree upon.

“Listen,” she stretched, arms above her head, shirt lifting as she did so for just a moment, “do you want to go get food? Cooking for one person sucks, and I’m starving. My treat. I’ve just got to clean a few things up yet.”

Her eyes were wide with something akin to innocence, maybe just obliviousness, but Tommy wasn’t going to turn her down.

“Sure. I’ve different clothes in the car. I’ll change while you clean, yeah?”

***

They walked in silence for the last of the block as Quinn tried her best to stay two steps ahead of him, leading the way.

She couldn’t have been too much taller than Charlie, Tommy wagered, at 13 he was a little over 5 foot and she looked to be somewhere close to the same.

“December or January Capricorn?” She asked, slowing her pace as she pulled the lip balm for her bag, brushing it over her lips before tossing it back inside.

“What?”

She smiled, taking in the baffled expression he wore, one brow quirked as his eyes met hers.

Raindrops spattered on the concrete around them, enough to color the gray a bit darker but not so much to soak through their clothes.

She held on to her purse strap with both hands, nails drumming along the strap. “The way the major arcana of the tarot deck correlates with astrology, the card of The Devil is the one equivalent to Capricorn, and, I just saw it and figured…”

She trailed off, wondering if she should have kept her mouth shut as they continued to weave in and out through the crowd of people.

“December.”

“Hmm.”

Quinn scooted as close as comfortable to the person in front of them, barely making it under the awning of the carryout only restaurant. Smooshed in the midst of the moving crowd there wasn’t much of a way to be cold, even with the temperature dropping from the rain.

“Fuck,” Tommy sounded exasperated before he even had his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, which was when Quinn noticed it was ringing, “Sorry, I’ve to take this.”

He was already three steps away before she called after him, “Wait, what do you want!”

He shook his head, answering the phone before speaking, “Hold on John,” turning the mouthpiece away, and pausing in stride, “whatever’s good, yeah?”

When Tommy returned Quinn was perched in the center of the bench, tapping on her phone, carefully holding two cans between her legs.

“Lemon or orange?” She hadn’t looked up yet, strands of hair falling in her face as she finished answering an email.

Tommy could see where she had started to peel back the foil lid to the orange can, must have thought better of it, and decided to wait to give him a choice.

“Lemon.”

Quinn relinquished the can, dropping her phone rather unceremoniously back into her bag, “You just look like someone who would drink San Pelligrino.”

“I think that’s supposed to be an insult, innit?”

“I didn’t say that. Saying you look like someone who drinks La Croix would be an insult.” Quinn shrugged, a small shake of her head betrayed by a smile as she offered out two separate items wrapped in foil. “Chicken or Beef?”

“Either.”

“Suit yourself.”

***

“Where the fuck have you been?” Hannah called out as Quinn shut the fridge. She took the stairs one at a time down into the living room, the worst part about living in a split level apartment in her opinion. Her eyes struggled to focus on Hannah in the flashing light from the tv, the only thing that illuminated the living room, until she finally saw her sprawled out under the blanket on the couch.

Gesturing to the two towels she cracked open the bottle of water, taking a long drink before speaking, “I’ve been in the shower.”

“No shit, I could hear your vibrator all the way out here.” Hannah sat up, the small pony tail on top of her head bobbing about as she reached for the remote to mute the TV, “You just never usually get home this late.”

Quinn shifted with a shrug, leaning against the bannister, “Yeah I’ve got more time to kill now since I got that laser hair removal, so I have to do something while I’m in there.”

She took another long swig of the water, glancing up to the microwave to check the time, “It’s not even that late.”

“What, you fuck him in that blacked out Range Rover and find out it wasn’t all that great?”

“No.” She chewed her lip, realizing the answer was a tad too quick, despite being the truth. “We went to Mamoun’s and got food and then he dropped me back off at the studio.”

“Like a date? You usually go to Mamoun’s by yourself.” It had been one of the first places Quinn had ventured alone when she went to New York, not realizing until the second or third time she went that there was one closer than Greenwich Village.

“No, like two people who hadn’t ate all day just being normal people and getting food.” She sighed, rubbing her eye less than gently before retreating back up the steps, “I’m going to bed, wasn’t expecting the Spanish Inquisition when I got home.”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, Quinn!”

Quinn closed the door to her room without another word, knowing she had set Hannah up for that without even realizing it.

After finding adequate pajamas in the form of an oversized shirt and underwear, she thought she would crawl in bed and immediately fall asleep, but a half hour later and she was still staring at the ceiling.

It always seemed like she met people twice in her life. A brief encounter, barely really knowing them, before she got to actually know them.

The Hannah she knew from at the MoMA and then at the shop, and now as her roommate, were almost three different people.

Dalton, her best friend from back home who she missed dearly, had first pushed her down on the playground before they became friends in high school.

She sighed, rolling to her stomach and stretching.

She had met Gerard at a party she never should have been at. As if that didn’t set the tone for the whole relationship. Wrong place, wrong time, she pondered.

As she tried to fall asleep she ran through her conversations with Tommy through the day. Clearly, as long as he didn’t bail, she would get to see him at least one more time, but would she ever see him after that?

It wasn’t that she didn’t have a returning client or two, but something about the easiness of being around him made her want to see him more than one more time.

[faeintheointment]

A New Normal - Part 5

Weeks have become months and my trips to the oversized abode have not abated. Late night conversations led to the cushion and the sweater becoming regular features of my visits. He was becoming more tactile - there wasn’t the fear that I would break if he touched me anymore. Instead of perching on furniture, he would hold be in either one open palm or cupped in two. He would often demonstrate companionable affection with a stroke with a finger or a friendly poke if we made fun of each other as we did in times gone by. There has never been an instance of discomfort or fear due to his size. I never felt as though he would take advantage of the size difference. Picking up was always done respectfully and without unexpected grabbing. It was my favourite place to go and spend time either at home or walking in the gorgeous landscape surrounding his house. Invitations were no longer needed, but if I needed to spend an evening at home for work or just to relax, that was fine too.

Friendship was all that was on the agenda though. I still couldn’t fathom him being able to feel anything else for me. He inspired awe because of his stature - more of him to love - but I had somehow managed to convince (kid?) myself that I had my feelings under control. Or so I thought.

Earlier in the day I’d received some amazing news about a job I’d just been offered doing what I really loved. I wanted to celebrate and I could think of no one else I’d rather share my excitement with. So I picked up a bottle(or two) of my favourite sparkling wine and took myself off to his place. As usual, I was literally swept off my feet upon arrival.

“You don’t usually clink when I pick you up - what’s with the bottles?” he asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"I'll tell you when we sit down," I replied excitedly. “But it is definitely worth celebrating!”

I relayed the story of my news - I’d been given a new role at work doing more of what I wanted to be doing and it offered exciting new challenges. I toasted my success. As the night passed, I drank more of my wine, and I’ll be honest, I was so relaxed and happy I didn’t keep track of how much. It was making me perhaps a little bolder than I would ordinarily have been. To the point of being more flirtatious than usual.

I don’t know whether it was the excitement of the moment, but suddenly he raised me up and pressed me close to his cheek in as near to an embrace as we could possibly get. Then he relaxed and dropped his hand back and looked at me lying in his palm. The suddenness of the movement had caught my breath and I was reclined looking at him in surprise. The look we exchanged was so intense. Almost imperceptibly, it seemed like he was raising his hand towards his lips. My eyes widened - could he have felt for me…? I hoped so…

Just as quickly as it happened, he stopped. His expression suddenly changed to something akin to horror and shame and then to an awkward smile.

“You idiot!” I told myself, “What the hell?! Did you think he was going to kiss you? God if he saw you wanted it, he’s going to think you’re ridiculous!”

I snapped out of my self-reproach and looked at my watch. “Oh god I am such an idiot, I let it get late and I forgot I’ve got to be somewhere early tomorrow!” I had to say something to break the awkwardness even if it was a lie. I just had to get out of there.

“Oh, here - let me take you home - it’s quicker…” he offered. The walk had never been more tense or quiet. When he placed me on the balcony, I made a quick exit, as if every extra minute of sleep I could get was crucial. I watched from behind the drapes that I hurriedly swished shut as he walked away and sighed sadly, feeling like this was the last time I would ever see him.

“What a dolt! Like he’s going to find you attractive like this - you’re doll-sized to him! And now you’ve blown even a friendship by making it weird…”

If I’d had the gift of telepathy, I would have heard something similar from him:

“Oh what a weirdo! She was probably terrified - you’re monstrously large and she’s so small, but so pretty - and now you’ve made it weird. I bet you never hear from her again either…”

Instead, I lay awake, tossing and turning. Filled with anger at myself, and feeling foolish, wondering how to fill a 50 foot void in my life.

#giant tiny #gentle giant #sfw g/t #giant #gt community #g/t #size difference #g/t fluff #g/t community #giant/tiny

[dicksoutformtl]

it’s been 60 years since I’ve started this & I’m still working on it, i am doing them individually then my thoughts of them as a couple.

first set of headcanons is with our babygirl sorbet ~!!but shh don’t tell him I called him that he’ll be pissed & no longer cook me delicious pastries :c

gelato should be done soon-ish: got him partly done but I got burnt out part way through rip

this was my first nonsense hc’s with these two if you’d like to check it out c:

tagging you in my nonsense hii @tenthgrove

Sorbet:

➵ Listen ok, i may or may not have a thing for characters who look super intimidating doing things that are generally seen as “soft” & it just melts my heart, so thus came the thought of Sorbet knitting. He prefers sweaters & things of that nature, they’re all knitted with traditional folk patterns such as this or this one. ( not limited to those patterns but you get the idea ) For someone who doesn’t really like the cold he sure make a lot of things for it lol.

Yes he knits all of Gelatos sweaters, stocking hats, & gloves— it’s super cute & endearing how Gelato always brings attention to his clothing like “yes my husband made this for me I am very proud uwu )” He has also made Risotto socks & he’s made Pesci little sweaters themed with fishes & other things. No one else though, naughty children don’t get knitted goodies by their “work dad.”

( coming back again & I am adding that Sorbet could/would knit his beloved third plushies or anything else they’d like <3 )

➵ I was thinking of things he’d be good at & i was y’know what I bet Sorbet would be good at archery, this has absolutely like no pull through I just think he’d be fun to watch shoot bullseye after bullseye while looking very bored & incredibly sexy lol. I also think he’d be a wonderful teacher with not just archery but also using any weapon/fighting ( I think he’s more of a gun guy—maybe?? but he’s a good fighter)

he is super patient man & very level headed when teaching someone, like for instance if you’re like me an your rather slow thinking or very touchy on certain sounds, Sorbet’s able to make things make sense in ways you understand or with sounds he is able to help you with either ear plugs/finds ways to get you acclimated to those sounds ( listen sometimes your not able to get ear plugs & you gotta find ways around to not immediately get debilitated by the sounds ) I dunno if I worded this well enough bdbdbd

( I am also adding this in my fourth go through of this, another thing with Sorbet as a teacher he will never press you past what he thinks you can handle. This goes for most things he can teach you not just with weaponry. He knows that it can be discouraging if you're pushed too fast or it’s something you're just not equipped to handle— if that makes sense? He wouldn’t put in the effort if he didn’t have faith in you so you can be comforted in knowing that he sees your worth in whatever hes teaching you. )

➵ I will die on this hill, he either has eyes colored like honey or beautiful dark brown eyes. He’s also got a hairy barrel chest like you’d see in the 80’s movies— I don’t know if he’d shave personally I hope he doesn’t but I’ll leave that up to y’all. I will say the man cannot grow facial hair that isn’t akin to mutton chops, he doesn’t like it on him anyways but lowkey when he was younger he was very salty about it lol.

➵ Have you considered him being scared of spiders or other insects, it’s not like a huge fear but he does get like little yucked out by them & has to call Gelato to come kill it for him. Because I have & I think it’s very silly an funny to imagine.

➵ He is left handed.

➵ He likes poetry & has written a few pieces about/for Gelato.

➵ Giggling at the idea of him trying something like LSD/Acid for the first time ever & he’s like that meme like “ these edibles ain’t shit” then it hits him an just fuckin wild he doesn’t do it anymore— he likes to keep his wits about him ( he smoke weed now an again with gelato when the mood strikes them but he no longer does anything harder )

➵ Sorry thinking about him wearing a gold chain ooh with the chest hair— very sexy if I say so. I do think if he wears jewelry thats gold in color. I dunno guys I’m just convinced he looks best in it.

➵ His first kiss/“relationship” wasn’t in the mmh best of conditions nor with the best of person— I’ll have to come back to this one because while it’s not *super* heavy, but it is a bit of a touchy thing that I want to write it right when I do.

➵ Thought he was Ace/Aro for a very long time due to his first relationship, he is not tho he found out later in his life however is very supportive of the ace/aro’s ( like he is *the* best ally he got you baby )

➵ His childhood “friend” was this big bernese mountain dog that follow him around as a youth, he doesn’t know who’s dog it was but this dog went everywhere he went & would attack/warn him of people coming when he was up to no good.

➵ He is big spoon only.

➵ Have you considered him wearing the uhh uhh— is it called lip stain???? it’s not like a full color but you got the tint or stain of the color ??? Yeah that think of that on him <33

➵ Sorbet collects pocket watches, bone records, & other things of that nature. I also like to think he has a bit of a ?? Is it called vulture culture when you collect bones & things like that? I am unsure but he also does a bit of that.

➵ I also headcanon that he is the oldest & has a few younger sisters that he took of until he was a young teenager.

Gelato:

➵ Listen ok, he can totally kill you & he generally doesn’t like people interacting with him, but he loooves to be treated tenderly & a little mushy when you are in a relationship with him. I like rough & aggressive Gelato as much as everyone else but god can you imagine his little knife cat smile when Sorbet ( or you—) pulls him close to him & an adoringly gazes at him before giving him kisses???? Or even more sweet mushy stuff??? Just ooohhhhh it gets me & I will die on this hill man.

There’s just something sweet in having a loved one treat him softly or in a way like he's dainty ( he & all of us know he is not dainty—the guys about as sturdy as you can get but I hope you get the idea shsbs ). Gelato truly adores the feeling it gives him on the inside, it’s like being protected & warm but not necessarily like physically but emotionally an mentally. I hope to god you get what I mean— I’m struggling to word it lol

( I’ve come back to this & I want to reiterate that when I was originally writing this I was thinking of how Gelato would’ve been consumed by that toxic masculinity for the longest time & he never had that chance of the gentle/tender treatment or just that pure kindness women get (( girls/people raised as a girl know what I mean— least I hope so )) having someone treat him in this manner & remind him that it’s *ok* to be softer in your way/be treated softer doesn’t make you less of a man. In fact you deserve to have these moments of security. But he is not uwu soft boy I was worried you’d think that’s what I meant & it’s not I just want him get to experience that kinda feeling even if he only allows/accepts it from sorbet or you his third. )

➵ I have convinced myself that Gelato can whittle & carve not just wood but also bone. I just think it’s one of those like dad/grandpa activities that makes me go !! Oh my boy can do that lol. I imagine he makes little sculptures or objects for not just Sorbet but Pesci, Formaggio, & Risotto. Risotto has a skull probably in the vein of something like this that Gelato carved for him & maybe for Pesci he carved this for him. Each member has a small dagger that Gelato whittled for them when they joined La Sqaudra.

➵ Ok ok hear me out on this but Gelato with the prettiest hazel/green eyes you ever seen they’re like a beautiful earthy color & when the sun hits it right you can see specs of like “gold” in them. I will forever stand by strong man bulks Gelato but over the years because I headcanon him in his like mid-late 40’s he’s more fat (chubby unsure how to word it here) but he still has muscle of course it’s just not as prominent as when he was a young man. Kinda like this photo or maybe this one? I don’t think he’s quite as wide as the photos I offered but he’s still got the overall look.

Now unlike Sorbet I do think he’s pretty hairy all over, maybe not quite as thick or bushy as Sorbet may be but still more hair. I’m also here for Gelato having a snaggle tooth & it’s got me going heart eyes over him lol.

➵ Gelato has C-PTSD I am not super familiar with this & how people are with it so I can’t go into great detail because I don’t want to get it wrong, but from what I read & how i headcanon him he’d definitely fit this criteria. I also still stand by him being on the spectrum, again I’m not like a %100 sure but I’m still thinking he has ADHD but he could have a different one I am unsure how to word this one well.

➵ I think he would be ambidextrous & can use his hands interchangeably but you’ll notice when he’s doing certain things he may favor his right for said project or vice versa

➵ Nipple piercings? Nipple piercings <3 he used to have others when he was a teenager but these & his right earring are the only ones that are left.

➵ He’s actually well read & incredibly smart! I personally hc him as someone people often overlook for an ignorant brute who’s incapable of focusing on subjects at hand. This is far from the truth actually, he’s very tactical & incredibly intelligent not just in common things like in “ that’s a x y or z” y’know, but also in other subjects like the more mmh literature/other if that makes sense lol.

He often plays up his more “manic” appearance, like yeah he’s very off the walls but part of that’s just places up to like 20 when really he’s more with it. Makes it easier to lull people into thinking he’s not as smart/cunning but don’t be fooled tho.

➵ Listen I truly think he’d have a pet ferret if he could, Sorbet will not let him have one though, not cause he doesn’t like the little critters but they’re hardly ever home & it’s not fair to the animal if they’re not there to give them attention. It’s also the same reason they don’t have any other pets besides the few strays Gelato feeds around the la sqaudra base ( maggio also helps with this )

➵ I personally hc Gelato being the more experienced one in the relationship. As I mentioned in my Sorbet list, he only had the one “relationship” before getting with gelato, well Gelatos the opposite in my backstory for them he’s had quite a few relationships before getting with Sorbet.

Though there’s only one before Sorbet that actually had any true feelings put into the relationship, it didn’t end well & it’s part of the reason he has C-PTSD & incredibly cautious of getting with Sorbet. It wasn’t a bad relationship mind you, just the circumstances around the ending of it just wasn’t very devastating ( had to do with the war & some other stuff ) but anyways !!!

Gelato’s had a lot more experience with this kind of thing & was the catalyst for helping Sorbet figure out that he wasn’t aro/ace

#jjba #jjba sorbet

[robotsprinkles]

Analysing the Evolution of Destiny’s Art Style, Prelude 3: Common Armour

So I’ve managed to compile a (maybe) decent amount of references/images of common rarity armour in D1 and D2 for use in the art style analysis thing.

I’m still missing a lot of the pieces from D1 because, again, there is no website or playlist or anything that has images or video for every piece of D1 gear (again lowlidev gear viewer is too low-poly and the texture/material detail basically doesn’t exist). Also a lot of these images are low-res because I took them from fextralife, which seems to think 700x324 is a reasonable size for images.

If anyone’s got/knows where to find higher quality images/images for armour pieces I’m missing, I’d greatly appreciate it.

Images and thoughts under the cut

(I’m aware these images are in a less than ideal format)

So before I make any real comments on the differences in the design of Common armour between the two games I want to make note of two important things:

a) as is immediately obvious, D2 has barely any sets of Common armour in comparison with D1, with 1/2 sets in each class almost looking more like Legendary sets in how different they are in aesthetic compared to the other two (the Wise/Brave/Daring sets and their damaged equivalents), making it significantly harder to note general trends in D2 Common armour since I’m essentially left with two sets per class. (Yes, I’m aware most D1 armour is just reskins with slight modifications)

b) Lorewise, it makes sense for the refugee/renegade/aspirant/wastelander sets (and basically any other non-legendary non-exotic armour from Vanilla) to look like ass, because they’re all essentially improvised, slapped-together garbage guardians managed to build in the aftermath of the opening to the Red War, since all the foundries and whatever other factories were producing armour in D1 would’ve all been out of action.

To account for these factors, I’ll be comparing the Refugee/Aspirant/Wastelander/Renegade sets with the “improvised” starter armour from the D1 tutorial (Born Spark, Prototype, and Lightmail), and the Wise/Brave/Daring/Damaged sets with all the other sets, since it’s about as fair of a comparison as I can manage with this.

A quick interesting lore note: D1 states that the starter armour is “fabricated/built by your ghost from available mass”. This armour, regardless of class, includes at least some metal or rigid polymer plating, and some form of mildly complex techsuit (made from materials reminiscent of hardened leather and kevlar, and a bit of metal).

In D2, however, outside of the gloves, the armour (refugee, aspirant, renegade, wastelander) mostly consists of simple textile armour, cable/cord/rope, and occasionally plates made of something reminiscent of plastic/some other polymer or some kind of rigid fibre weave. The techsuits (or rather, undersuits since they don’t appear to really be that technical/complex), seem to be made of a more conventional clothing material, appearing softer, like they’re made from a more cushioning-oriented material (almost like a jumper/sweater)

(Also, I’m not certain of this, but I believe I’ve heard or seen mentioned somewhere that the Wise/Brave/Daring sets in D2 are more akin to ceremonial/parade armour than field gear, which would make sense, but I’m not sure whether this is actual canon or just a claim someone made when discussing this topic. If it’s true, and they are indeed ceremonial gear, then I guess the comparison gets a bit iffy)

Now, onwards:

Warlocks

D1 Common Warlock Armour

(Pretty sure I messed up and the first Logic Singer II legs are Logic Singer I. also I typo’d Vector Oath I as Vector Oatj I but eh whatever)

D2 Common Warlock Armour

Quick notes:

Comparing the Wise/Damaged helmet from D2 with the D1 helmets,

Different plates on the Wise set flow into each other more, 

The armour plating on the D1 helmets look thicker than on the Wise helm

The D1 helmets feel more machined, with more hard edges, flat(ter) surfaces, mechanical greebling like bolts/rivets, cutouts, and inserts

The visors of D1 warlock helmets feel reminiscent of roll cages, with the bar going through the middle and the visible shell surrounding it, which is itself then surrounded by the main armour plates of the helmet

These armour plates do  not generally sit flush against the cage, instead having some level of overhang from it, giving everything more body/weight, and counterintuitively making everything feel more solid

The visors themselves are slightly more inset from the innermost layer of cage/armour in D1 than in D2, making the D1 visor/cage feel more robust

D1 helmets have more significant panel lines/separation than D2; the gaps are larger, the lines are thicker, and so on.

Titans

D1 Common Titan Armour

D2 Common Titan Armour

Quick notes:

Comparing Brave with the non-lightmail/scoutmail sets (though most of this applies to them as well)

D2 titan armour (plates) generally cover more of the titan’s body than D1, where armour seems more, I say reserved but that’s probably not the right word. Essentially, Titan armour plates in D1 seem more economically placed, as an example, leg armour generally focuses more on protecting the fronts and sides of the legs moreso than the backs of the legs, and vambraces focus on the outer forearm

On a related note, the plates in D2 titan armour are generally larger (but not thicker) than in D1. This can be seen in the breastplates of D1 only really covering from below the collarbone to somewhere around the bottom of the sternum, while the breastplate on the Brave cuirass extends all the way across the traps, acting as its own shoulder straps.

Again, plates seem to flow into each other more instead of being stacked/layered or protruding out from each other, as seen in the Brave cuirass, where the breastplate and ribplates flow into each other seamlessly (I know, I know, technically the panel line is a seam, you know what I mean). Also sean on the spauldrons. (of D1, fieldplate is the closest to flowing plates, as seen in the cuirass, where the different plates mostly stick to the same level with not much protrusion/stacking)

In addition, the armoured vest (worn over the techsuit) which the true cuirass was attached to in D1 is either not present or had significantly reduced presence in D2, resulting in D2 titan cuirasses being attached directly to the techsuit, supporting the claim that D2 armour feels less layered than D1

Hunters

D1 Common Hunter Armour

D2 Common Hunter Armour

Quick notes:

Something that’s true for both the other classes but is easiest to demonstrate with hunters: D1 armour tended to have more blatant “function components” (probably not the best term for it. I’ll probably change it at some point). Basically, components that look like they have a specific (if unspecified) function which they were added to the armour for. This is most evident in hunters’ helmets having very visible gas masks and armoured goggles/visor, as well as the buckles, straps, and pipes present in a lot of the armour pieces, (This can also include rivets and bolts and the like)

The previously mentioned use of larger, more enclosing/covering plates, and plates flowing into each other, is further evidenced in the Daring cuirass/vest. The breastplate, while being made of two separate plates, looks almost more like a single plate that’s just been painted two different colours due to how flush the plates are with each other and how thin the panel line is. I will note that D1 hunter chests are actually quite similar in form and coverage to the Daring set, however, they also have more visible and significant panel separation, as well as extra Bits and Bobs attached to them, helping give them a more “functional” feel

A quick general note I’m sure most people will have noticed: D1′s Common armour is actually generally brighter and/or more colourful than D2′s in a lot of places (to give some examples, Fieldplate 0-3, Firebreak, Logic Singer II, and Scalpel Wing III)

This last note is true of all classes, but is most relevant to titans, as hunters and warlocks generally conceal their techsuits beneath cloth in the majority of armour sets: Techsuits in D1 were significantly more complex on average than in D2, being made up of more parts, and having their own armour. I’m tempted to guess that this is due to D1 armours’ nature as a modularly constructed system, where artists would regularly reuse assets between sets, and usually had a base core for every armour piece which they would add to, whereas D2 armour generally being built from the ground up as a complete set would have resulted in making a complex techsuit for every set being exhausting for the artists. This is, again, just me guessing. I’ve no idea if I’m correct.

This all being said, I’m aware I might’ve let my bias towards D1 armour slip in a bit here in my wording. Sorry about that. On the other hand, I don’t think even people who think D2′s armour looks better than D1′s think the refugee/aspirant/renegade/wastelander sets look good, so

Now,

A quick aside regarding “functionality”. Often, when people discuss “realistic sci-fi armour/vehicles” they will often claim armour (and vehicles, but this post is about armour so) that makes more use of flat surfaces is more realistic and functional/effective/protective than round surfaces, and that armour with rounded plates is less effective.

These people are wrong.

Well, somewhat.

The thing is, flat surfaces possess very good (and superior) deflective capabilities within a certain margin of impact angles, but as a result of being flat, become less effective at deflecting force the more perpendicular the angle of impact is. Rounded surfaces, on the other hand, are generally effective at deflecting impacts from most all angles, excepting instances where someone gets really lucky and lands a blow in just the right spot (which is generally not very large. this is why flanged maces and pronged war hammers exist; the flanges/prongs help catch against the curve of the armour and transfer more of the strike’s force into the plate, instead of the force being deflected by the curve). 

So curved surfaces are generally more effective at deflecting impacts/energy, but people generally feel like flat surfaced armour is stronger/more effective/whatever. I assume this is due to a combination of of shape language, common association, and so on.

However, flat surfaced armour does, I believe, have one advantage over rounded armour: It’s generally a lot easier to mass-produce.

(this last bit has been a rant about things that don’t matter motivated by me reading too many reddit threads where people say rounded armour is less effective than flat armour, and also that one youtuber who talks about sci-fi spaceships and spacebattles who said that the covenant ships from halo — and other similarly rounded/organic-shaped ships — were badly designed from a functionality standpoint)

#Destiny #Destiny 2 #Titan #Hunter #Warlock #Robot analyses Destiny's artstyle #This is a prelude because I'm not comfortable making any concrete claims based off such a limited sample size #that doesn't include the vast majority of armour in both games #especially considering D2 only has four common sets per class #which might as well be two— three at best #Robot's Rambles

[blauaugenangel]

We’re seeing each other again and I’m so excited, of course. And nervous. Do I look okay? Would he think so? Of course he would, but still…

And then there he is, in his Critical Role sweater, and we hug and everything is right. We sit outside on the patio, across from one another on a picnic table. He teases me about not getting a joke on the menu, and I chastise him, as if I hadn’t just worked all morning and driven a long way. When the food comes, I comment on how I was jealous that he got a pickle.

“I appreciate that you are jealous. You know the difference between jealousy and envy. Jealousy suggests you feel you are entitled to it.”

“I am entitled to your pickle.”

And so on and so forth and me therefore being “territorial” over his, well…pickle.

After we finish eating, I ask him to sit next to me, and after he moved, his arm is around me instantly, my head on his shoulder.

It doesn’t take long for him to kiss me.

I learn more about his family, how close he was to his grandfather and how young his parents were when they had him. How he argued with his mom at 14 and was restrained by his uncle.

As we walk back to my car, I tell him I wish he’d had a happier childhood. He agrees. There’s a big part of me that wishes I could help that child, to make him happy. I want him as he is now to be happy, too. I want that desperately.

I was happy, as he wraps his arm around me again and says he wants to hold me. As much as I do too, I take his hand instead, and we walk like that for blocks, open and unashamed. In fact, I want people to see. I want everyone to know that he is mine and I am his, if only for this moment.

Back at my car, he kisses me again, pulling me close, so close. More eager now, that we were alone. How badly I want to pull him into the backseat and just be the two of us.

Then back to the street, wandering. I tell him my socks keep falling down to my knees, and he asks if I want him to help me with them. My instinct is to say no, but I want him to, and I say yes. He kneels down, once again, and gently pulls each sock higher up my leg. Gentlemanly.

I turn the conversation then to a missed opportunity. How I was unsure if he’d invited me to sit in his lap in our last meeting, and how I’d regretted not taking the chance. He teased me about how often I must think about it. He’s right.

Hand-in-hand we wander, finding another cute bar tucked away. Another round of drinks and another picnic table. He straddles the bench, I do not. But I fit perfectly between his legs, and I fall into him. His arms wrap around me, and he whispers how much he wants to hold me once more.

He’s breathing me in again: deep, full breaths. Memorizing me. Who I am. “Etching [my] scent into [his] memory.” It’s perhaps the most intimate thing he could do, and I find myself desperate to remember him too, my face against his neck.

“I didn’t wear any perfume or anything either, like you asked last time.”

“Thank you.” A kiss. “I’d like to be able to keep seeing you.”

Ah. So this is a secret.

We talk, and we kiss. The way he kisses me…I told him before, but when he kisses my forehead, my nose…I feel so incredibly wanted. His lips press against my forehead and they stay there, in what I can only describe as akin to a suction cup. I’ve never been kissed like that. And it’s addicting. His kisses to the tip of my nose, and our faces so close. My nose rubbing against his, needing it.

“I always thought that was what Eskimo kisses are, but apparently it’s not.”

“What is, then?” I know I’ve seen something before, but I can’t remember. And before I can remember, he’s grabbing my face and nuzzling his nose firmly against my cheek. And I’m smiling wide, so full of joy in that moment. It’s silly and yet I can feel how much he cares.

“I can feel you relaxing” he murmurs into my hair.

“I’m comfortable with you,” I assure him.

“I mean, I can physically feel it. You relaxing into me.” And I am, melting into his chest, his embrace. I want to be there forever.

Our faces so close, I stare at him, and he at me. I hadn’t gotten to see his eyes in the light yet, and they’re stunning. I’m not afraid anymore to look at him, really look. We stare, unwavering, and it’s overwhelming but in a way I want to drown in rather than fight. I tell him how nervous I was that first night that I couldn’t even look at him. He remembers. Now all I want to do is hold his gaze for as long as I can. For him to see me.

Contrast that to later, when his hand finds my throat and he’s pressing down, his mouth hungry on mine as he chokes me. It’s delicious, and I can’t stop myself from moaning against his lips. I don’t want to stop it anyway, I want him to know just how badly I want him. I tell him.

Breathlessly laughing into his neck, he asks me what it’s for. “I can’t believe it’s so hard to tell you, even though you already know.”

“Tell me.”

I move my face slightly to see him, only an inch away.

“That I want you to have me. To take full control of me.”

Kisses.

“You know I want that too.” He’s quiet and breathless and sincere. He tells me how badly he wants it too. Makes promises. It feels inevitable. And that thrills and terrifies me. I taste his beer in my mouth, against my tongue.

My coat goes on, which he helps me with. These simple acts I find so incredibly endearing. Only to quickly be followed up with a squeeze at my chest. “Why do you think I wanted you to put that on?” I feign offense, to which he says “I love your tits” and “it’s you.” And it’s a bit crass but it does make me feel so wanted. Me. As I am. For myself.

Later he tells me that he’d like me to meet his daughter. I’d like that too. I tell him I’d like to get her a birthday present, if I may. He says yes. I remember her birthday and tell him so. And that I know his birthday. He can’t quite remember mine.

This leads to a discussion about how I want to talk to him more, but I don’t always feel that I can. “Sometimes something will remind me of you and I want to tell you, but I don’t.” He then tells me that there are times he fears I will be disappointed in him, and so he says nothing at all. He forgot my birthday, so he said nothing. I tell him I don’t care, that I miss him and just want to hear from him.

I take this opportunity to run my hand through his hair. I tell him how much I love it. And I do. And he knows it.

Time is cheating us, and soon we have to walk back to my car and say farewell. He intentionally follows steps behind me as we climb the stairs, openly admiring the view it provides him up my skirt. I feel embarrassed and desired and I can’t wait to be alone with him.

I leave my purse in the front passenger seat and turn back to him, and his arms are around me in an instant. He’s more insistent now, leaning over me, taking control. As if he doesn’t own me any time I’m in his arms like this. I tell him so, whispered against his mouth just how badly and completely I want him. He assures me of his desire too.

His hand finds its way under my skirt, and he pauses. He needs to know it’s okay. I nod, and then my breath hitches and my knees feel weak. He breaths more promises into my mouth. We pull away just enough to reset into a hug, my hands running along his back and holding his shoulders.

“I need to go be a daddy,” he sighs, then we’re laughing softly. “Well, I’m being a daddy now, I need to go be a dad.” He tells me I haven’t called him that yet. I tell him he needs to earn it. His hand explores again and the name comes easily.

“I’m going home smelling like things I’m not supposed to.” And I worry he’ll get in trouble, but he doesn’t actually seem to care. No, not at all.

In our usual dance, I sit behind the wheel staring up at him. He tells me that this will continue. Kisses me once again. It’s terrible to let him leave. I want to be so selfish, to make him stay longer. He’s had to be the one each time to bring things to a close. I’m not strong enough to do it. Because it’s not what I want. I just want him.

He closes the door, and I see him gently but firmly knock his fist against the glass before he turns and walks away. A sign I believe of just how frustrated he is that he has to walk away at all.

Maybe one day he won’t have to.

[jadedpen]

Welcomed with open arms

Sibling!Half phantom!GN!Reader x Sbi family (+ Tubbo)

Summary: You are stuck in the cold snow as a small toddler in a basket. As the snowstorm roared, Phantoms circle around you, letting out wails of woe and sorrow. Suddenly, you hear the flapping of big feathery wings and see the Phantoms fly away. You then see a mysterious man with a white and green striped hat and welcoming blue eyes.

For context: Wilbur and Techno are twins, the reader is the youngest of the family with Tubbo being 1 year older than Tommy. The twins are 11 years old, Tommy is 4 and Tubbo is 5.

TW: There is a small part in the beginning where the reader almost dies from hypothermia, so be mindful of that, please!

Also, don’t worry, this work will have multiple chapters, so stay tuned!

Sorry if this is kinda bad. This is my first time writing a reader fanfic.

Ao3 link here

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The bitter cold touched your skin as your breath came out slow and steady. Your fingertips glowed blue and your thin wings weren’t much help to warm you up. The basket you were placed in by your unknown parents barely kept you alive all these hours, the thin blanket wrapped around you.

Phantoms circled you, seeing you as one of their own. You could sense the distraught and worry in their cries and their wails. As they swooped down, they tried to pick up the basket that carried you, but to no avail. Your tiny toddler hands tried to reach out to them, wanting nothing more but to be carried somewhere where you won’t freeze in the storm. You let out small wails and cries, those very much akin to a Phantom, until you heard a caw.

One caw became ten, and suddenly there was a whole murder of them, so many that the amount started to block the storm. Some even tried to attack the phantoms, but they wouldn’t leave you alone. They’d rather die than let the crows have their way with you.

But, there came a large beating of wings. Ones way more than the huge murder swirling around you. As the beating wings died down, you could hear the thumps of footsteps coming towards you, and feel something or someone pick you up. The hands were the warmest thing you’ve ever felt, and your eyes met the mysterious person’s bright welcoming blue. The eyes could convey so much; uneasiness, pity, curiosity.

They wore a large hat, one that was green and white striped. Medium blond hair came out of the sides with a small braid in the front and little knickknacks hanging from the strange hat. Huge black wings stood behind them, making them seem larger than the storm from your view. Even though your vision was impaired from the cold, you could see a small bit of what they was wearing aside from their head; a green opened kimono with a black turtleneck and a strange red heart in the middle.

The person looked up at the phantoms, not noticing that their wails were of worry. They pulled out a bow and a sharp arrow, aiming it at the phantoms. You could tell that the person meant harm, and so you wailed at them to make them stop. The person looked at you, and then the phantoms. They finally noticed the roars of the Phantoms were wails and cries, meaning only woe. The person seemed to call to the crows, and the crows obeyed. Birds swooped down to the ground where you and the person were set, no longer focusing on the Phantoms.

The snowstorm got worse, cold even colder. It became harder and harder to breathe or keep your eyelids open. Eyes barely open, you could see the person holding you have panic in their eyes, looking up ahead and wings wide open. Your tiny hands clutched the cloth on their chest, trying to find even the slightest bit of warmth you could feel as the person held you and carried the basket in hand.

You felt the person run, and then take flight. Wind blew on your head as your eyes closed all the way, hearing the caws of crows seem to follow this mysterious person.

A few minutes later, you hear the storm dying down, becoming only a midnight breeze. The person carrying you descended down to the ground, walking towards something warm. Despite the storm now over, you couldn’t open your eyes, seeming to be iced shut.

A huge wave of warmth filled the air as the person opened the door to what you assumed to be their house. You heard childlike voices, 3 to be exact. You weren’t able to understand them, but you were happy to know that you weren’t the only person anymore.

“Who’s that?” A small voice said; you could feel their beady eyes staring at you. ”It’s a baby. I found them freezing in the cold. I’m happy I saved them; any longer and they might’ve been left to die. Poor thing.” The deeper voice came from above you, seeming to come from the person who saved you. The person then sat on something soft and held you in their lap.

“Are you seriously considering adopting another sibling? We already have to deal with Tommy-” “HEY!” Two voices argued, one being slightly deeper and older but still young, and the other being loud and boisterous, being the same small voice you first heard.

“Both of you shut up. Who cares if we have another sibling, this ones adorable.” A separate voice spoke up, setting a warm hand on your tiny toddler one. You lightly grabbed the person’s bigger hands, warming your seemingly frozen hand even more.

“So… do we have a new sibling now?” “Seems like it.” The two older voices continued, “Well, I just hope they don’t turn out like Tommy- “GOD DAMMIT TECHNO-“ Loud arguing could be heard while you continued to hold the mysterious boy’s hand. Opposite to the loudness, the mysterious man from before spoke, “Would you like to hold them Wil?”

You assumed he nodded his head as the striped hat man handed you to ‘Wil’. The boy held you in his arms while the striped hat man softly caressed your head lovingly. You climbed onto the Wil’s sweater, burying your face into the soft material.

“Boys, could you stop arguing before you upset the baby.” “But Techno is being a bitch!” “Tommy! Where did you hear that word?” “Nowhere!” “Shut up Tommy. Before you cause Phil to finally get those hearing aids.”

The three continue bickering while you and Wil just vibe with Wil patting your head and you snuggling into his warmth. After a few minutes of arguing, they finally calm down and crowd around you.

“Alright. I’m going to go and fix up some proper clothes for them. In the meantime, try not to make the child cry, okay?” The striped hat man said, walking out of the room.

You could feel their eyes on you, with Wil still patting your head while a hand held yours. You slowly opened your eyes for the first time in the house and finally saw your new family.

The boy named Wil had curly brown hair with bangs to right of his face, pointed ears, and brown eyes; big round glasses adorned his face and a red beanie upon his head, with a big yellow sweater. The person holding your hand looked almost exactly like him. His hair was the same as Wil’s, though it was to the right, with square glasses and the same pointed ears, with his sweater being pink. A small tusk grew out of each of their mouths, being on opposite sides.,

Wilbur swooned to you, “Hi there. I’m Wilbur.”, smiling at you with a big smile. “This here is my twin, Technoblade, but just call him Techno or Tech.” He looked over to said twin, with Techno staring at you and then patting your head.

The smaller one, who had blonde hair and blue eyes wearing a white shirt with the sleeves being red, looked just as boisterous and loud as he acted. He looked at you curiously as you turned your head to look at him, and to your surprise started poking you in the cheek rather annoyingly with you groaning out of annoyance and snuggling up to Wilbur.

“Tommy, stop poking them you’re gonna make them hate you.” “Shut it Wil, you know I will be the favorite brother. Better than you or Techno or even Tubbo.”

Speaking of the devil, the one you assumed was ‘Tubbo’, due to his name only now being said and the rest having said their names, walked down the creaky stairs; a blanket over his shoulders. The boy had messy brown hair and goat pupils in his blue eyes.

Tubbo walked towards the couch, rubbing his eyes in tiredness. “Phil told me that we apparently have a new sibling.” He walked towards you and sat in front of Wilbur, staring into your (e/c) eyes. “What’s their name? Have you guys even figured out a name?” “I think we should wait until Phil gets back. We don’t want Tommy to try and name them ‘Big Man’.” Saying this, Techno squeezes your hand. “But anyway, I had this super weird dream-“

As Tubbo started ranting about various dreams he’s had over the week, Wilbur nudges Techno and hands you to him. Reluctantly, Techno holds you, with you snuggling into his sweater, which was made of the same material as Wilbur’s.

A few minutes pass and Tubbo is still talking about his dreams when Phil comes in. “Alright. I’ve set up a room for the little one. Considering they seem to be half Phantom, there aren’t any windows since I don’t know if they are affected by the sun or not.”

“Great. Speaking of, what are we going to name them?” “I say we name them Big Man!” “That’s a horrible idea Tommy!” Wilbur and Tommy continue to argue while Phil, Techno, and Tubbo all crowd around you on the couch. “So… what should we name them?” Tubbo started. “Well, what about something nice? Something… simple but fitting.” Tubbo and Phil listed off possible names, seeing if anything would stick.

“What about… y/n?” The rest of the family looked at Techno, the person who suggested the name. “Y/n?” Wilbur stated, thinking over the name. “Y/n. A lovely name.” Phil smiled, looking at you.

“Welcome to the family, Y/n.”

#Reader x Sbi #sbi x y/n #sbi x reader #gender neutral y/n #dadza #dadza x reader #WWOP

[fruitcoops]

Can yoy maybe write about sirius getting injured during a game, and remus gatting so frustrated because hes not the PT anymore so he cant help him right away?

♡♡♡

Yes, indeed! We haven’t done any angst/ hurt comfort in a while and I’ve been noodling around with this idea for a bit now. Thanks for the recommendation! Sweater Weather credit belongs to @lumosinlove!

TW for unconsciousness, mild concussion, beginnings of panic, and bruising

Sirius hit the ice, and he didn’t get up.

Remus’ heart skipped a beat.

He was next to him in an instant, gloves and helmet long forgotten as he carefully unbuckled Sirius’ chin strap. A fight had broken out behind him, but he tuned it out—he knew this process. He was trained for this.

But this was Sirius he was holding, Sirius whose eyes were still fucking closed and even though his breathing was steady he was limp in Remus’ arms.

Pulse. Check.

Eyes. Glassy under the eyelids.

Patient nonresponsive to his name or touch.

Stop shaking, Remus ordered his hands as he worked through his list. Stop it right now. You have a degree, you were trained for this.

“Mr. Lupin, please move so we can take a look,” a new voice said.

“I’m helping.”

“Mr. Lupin, we’re the medics here—”

“I’m helping,” Remus snapped. “His breathing is even but he’s nonresponsive, possible concussion.”

“We need to make room for the medics.”

“I am the fucking medic.”

Emmeline’s hand was gentle but firm on his bicep. “Remus, you’re a player now. Let us do our job. We’ll take good care of him.”

“Let me help.” Why is my voice breaking? I’m perfectly calm. “Please, let me help.”

“You already did.” Slowly, he scooted aside so she could kneel by Sirius’ shoulder and run the same tests Remus had just cleared him for.

“I already did that—”

“Remus.”

“I’m sorry.” The fingers that laid cold in his palm twitched and Remus immediately leaned forward again as Sirius’ eyes opened. “Sirius? Sirius, can you hear me?”

Sirius muttered something and Emmeline glanced behind Remus; a moment later, he felt someone’s hands pulling him up from under his arms. “Come on, Loops, give them space,” James murmured.

“Let go, I can help.” Remus struggled, but James’ arm was a steel bar across his chest as he skated backwards a few feet. Sirius was looking around now, answering questions with a dizzy expression. “James, he needs me—he needs me, I can help.”

“The best thing you can do is take some deep breaths with me. In and out, Re, in and out.”

Sirius stood on unsteady legs and leaned on the medics for support as they practically carried him off the ice; the rest of the team skated after them at a safe distance, all clearly worried. No limp, no wincing, red cheeks, headache? Concussion? No broken bones, no soft tissue damage, please God let him be alright. Something warm trickled down Remus’ chin. “I can help.”

“You already did.”

“Stop it,” he said harshly. “Stop it, don’t tell me that. I can do more, I have to do more, it’s my job.”

“No, it’s not.”

“He’s my—” Remus’ voice gave out. “He’s Sirius.”

“I know.”

Logan was skating back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in front of the bench, his eyes locked on Sirius’ retreating back. The hit replayed in Remus’ mind—clean, fast, brutal. A simple trip over a misplaced stick, then Sirius flying headfirst into the boards and going limp as the dumb fucking rookie scrambled to his feet.

Dumo went over and led Logan into a side hug by his elbow. A tremor visibly ran through Logan’s body and Remus went cold. Had he missed something? What was it? What test didn’t he run—

“Sit with me.” It wasn’t a question. He nodded, and James guided him to the bench, past Logan and Dumo as they talked quietly in French.

“Lupin, are you alright?” Coach asked before they even came off the ice.

“They wouldn’t let me help,” he said weakly.

Something akin to pity crossed his face. “We’ve got six minutes left. Sit this one out.”

“I can play.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Will someone please just let me be useful?” Remus startled himself a bit with his volume and felt James’ hands go slack with surprise on his arms. He swiped furiously at the sweat—not sweat, it felt different—that covered his cheeks. “Please, Coach.”

“You’re done for this game,” Arthur repeated, though his voice was kind. Remus wanted to hate it, but he couldn’t. “We’ll keep you updated. Pots, go get Tremzy off the ice. You’re on for this shift.”

“Yes, Coach,” James said, giving Remus a quick squeeze. “Deep breaths. He’ll be alright.”

------------------------------

Sirius was still in the PT room when the final buzzer went off; Lions win, 3-2. Remus barely got his pads off before he went running down the hall with Logan hot on his heels, leaving their gear scattered haphazardly in their stalls.

Emmeline was just closing the door when they arrived. “Can we see him? Is he okay? Concussion protocol was updated so my tests might not have been enough but is he still awake?” Remus blurted out in a single rushed breath.

She didn’t miss a beat. “He’s up and talking. We think it’s a very mild concussion that just hit a little weird and knocked him around.” Logan’s grip tightened on his forearm and her eyes flickered down to it. “Both of you can relax. You’re welcome to go in if you like.”

They were halfway through the door before she was even done speaking. Sirius was sitting upright on the PT table, still in his under armour and holding an ice pack to the side of his head. He lit up when he saw them. “Hey, I was just—”

“Are you okay?” Remus demanded. He pulled the ice away and prodded the bruised skin, then stared directly into Sirius’ eyes to check for any lack of focus. He looked alert, which was a good sign. “You look worried. Does it hurt? Are the lights—”

“Re.” His hand folded over Remus’, and tears clogged his throat. “I’m fine. Emmeline and the team cleared me, and Hestia did all the tests. Did we win?”

“Yeah,” Logan said quietly. “Coach didn’t let either of us back on the ice.”

“Who fucking cares about the game?” Anger flared in Remus, hot and sudden. “You were unconscious.”

Sirius remained infuriatingly calm. “I was.”

“You—you hit the boards and you didn’t get up.” Eyes not open. Breathing shallow, but even. Heart rate steady. Follow the process. “Sirius, you didn’t get up.”

“I promise I’m okay.” He reached out and pulled Remus close, rubbing small circles on his back with one hand and reeling Logan in with the other. “It was a rough hit, that’s all.”

“They wouldn’t let me help you,” Remus whispered. His voice was muffled in Sirius’ shoulder and he tucked his face into his neck, holding him even tighter. “I’m so sorry, love.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Sirius placed a small kiss behind his ear. “Est-ce que ça va, Tremz?”

“Ouais, plus bien maintenant.” They shifted slightly as Logan pressed his forehead to Sirius’ with a sniffle. “Don’t fucking do that again.”

“Seconded,” Remus muttered.

“Got it,” Sirius laughed lightly, kissing the tops of both their heads before releasing them. His eyebrows rose as he spotted something over their shoulders. “Um, hello.”

“Hey,” nine Lions said from the doorway. Emmeline looked mildly amused at their sardine-crammed position. James drummed his fingers on the doorframe and tapped his foot at the same time; if they didn’t come over in the next five seconds, Remus was afraid he might explode.

“Is our turn now?” Kuny ventured, standing on his tiptoes to see over the rest. “Cap still okay? Not hugged to dead?”

“Death,” Nado corrected quietly.

“Cap not hugged to death?”

“Really, I’m fine,” Sirius laughed as they all tumbled inside, rushing to check in on him. Remus noticed Logan place himself like a brick wall if someone got too close to Sirius and felt a wave of affection go all the way down to his toes.

“Give him space,” Emmeline reminded them from the door. “The concussion is mild, but it’s there.”

“I would love to see you try to get those boys out of here,” Hestia snorted as she entered. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Remus and he nodded to her; she winked and shot him a quick smile before grabbing the clipboard off the wall.

“Treatment plan?” he guessed as she tore a piece of paper off and handed it to him. Dumo was still hugging Sirius in a vice grip.

“It’s so nice to have someone who understands this stuff,” she sighed. “Pretty easy, to be honest. I’ve written a few reminders, but you know the drill.”

“Thank you, Hestia. Really.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “I promised to take care of your boys, didn’t I? Have a little faith, Loops.”

“I have so much faith in you it’s embarrassing.”

She laughed at that, throwing her head back and clapping him on the shoulder. “I guess that’s what happens when someone tapes your face back together, huh?”

“Exactly. Can I take him home now?”

“Go easy for the next couple weeks,” she teased.

Remus rolled his eyes and stuck the paper in his back pocket. “Alright, alright, very funny.”

“You should probably go home and get some rest, though. He’s not allowed on the ice for the rest of the week and I, for one, don’t want to be the person breaking that particular news.”

“What?” She left with a final kiss blown in his direction; unfortunately, Sirius did not seem to have overheard her. “Wait, you don’t get to just leave! That’s such a cop out!”

“What’s a cop out?” Sirius asked.

Remus closed his eyes and huffed. This is going to be fun.

[silverarmedassassin]

Clandestine Meetings - Prologue

Bucky x reader | Word Count: 1012 | Warnings: Charming Bucky?

Divider by @firefly-graphics ❤️  

[ Series Masterlist | Next ]

One year, six months, and fourteen days.

That’s exactly how long you’ve been graduated from college; exactly how long you’ve tried and consistently failed at launching your writing career.

It’s not that you’re bad at writing. According to every editor, blog-runner, and marketing director you’ve submitted work to, it was simply timing, not you. And as much as you try to not let it affect you, you’re one rejection letter away from throwing in the towel and accepting you’re going to work as an underpaid barista for the rest of your life.

That was, however, until you received a call from Stark Publishing, the leading publishing company in North America. It wasn’t a glamorous position, just something akin to an assistantship gig that you're sure you’ll still be underpaid for. At least you were getting your foot in the door, though, right?

Right. Or, that’s at least what you tell yourself as you settle into the high-tech elevator in the flashiest office building in New York City. You press the button for the 45th floor, stomach doing a few somersaults as you think of being up that high, and dare the doors to shut before anyone else can get in. You couldn’t get that lucky, of course, and right before the doors closed, a tan, perfectly kempt hand shoves its way in.

“Thank god,” the owner, a deliciously tall, wonderfully lean man pants as the doors part for him. “Already late for this meeting.” He vigorously pushes the button for the 43rd-floor repeatedly as if it will make the elevator move quicker.

You internally curse the universe. Not only were you losing your mind over this interview with Mr. Stark, the owner of the magazine, and his editor-in-chief Ms. Potts, but now you were also stuck in a small space with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on. As if you weren’t sweating enough.

Your hands grow even clamier as you grip your faux leather portfolio just a little tighter. You cast your gaze down at a kitten-heeled foot, which is now anxiously tapping on the metallic floor.

“Nervous ‘bout somethin’?” the handsome stranger asks, voice deep like espresso and as smooth as whiskey.

You chance a peek at the man and find two light blue orbs looking down at you, dancing with amusement. A little stubble shadows the sharp angles of his jawline, and his pink, pillowy lips turn up into a shy grin. The smile looks familiar, like something you’ve seen in a dream long ago, but you can’t place a finger on it. You know for a fact you’ve never met this man before - you’d remember someone like him. Plus, you doubt he runs in the same circle as you, considering the sunglasses perched on top of his perfectly quiffed Chesnut locks look like they cost double your rent. It made sense, especially if he worked for Stark. Maybe you’ll be in that position one day, you hope.

The man shifts a little, making you realize you’ve been staring a little too long without actually saying anything. You quickly avert your eyes as your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Uh, I’ve got an interview,” you say shakily. “With the big man himself.”

The stranger offers a chuckle that gently reverberates in his chest. “Nah, you don’t have anything to worry about. Stark’s all talk. Absolutely no bite.” You look back up at him and find that his grin has doubled in size. “You just gotta walk in there with your head held high and show him who’s in charge of this interview.”

“That’s easier said than done,” you mumble. You’ve been shy and a little unsure of yourself before you started interviewing, but after the endless stream of “we regret to inform you” emails and calls, your confidence is at an all-time low.

The man shrugs and crosses his bulky arms over his broad chest. He doesn’t know who you are. He may have a preconceived notion from reading your resume or stalking your social media, but he doesn’t know you. My ma always told me to fake it ‘till I made it and, well, it’s worked so far.” He flashes that smile at you again, a genuine smile with teeth gleaming even in the dim elevator lighting and crinkles creasing the corners of his eyes.

How is he so perfect?

“Even if you’ve got the confidence of a three-legged horse racin’ in the Kentucky Derby, you need to pretend that you don’t. You’re young, beautiful, and obviously smart if Stark is even considering you for a position. You just gotta believe it until you become it.”

The laughter that bubbles up from your tummy surprises you. “Do you do this often? Give pep talks to strangers in elevators?”

This makes his eyes crease again with joy, and you can’t help but preen a little at the fact you were, for the moment, the source of this man’s happiness. “Only when they’re real pretty.”

You feel your cheeks heat up again as the elevator dings, and an automated Irish-lilted voice chimes through the small space, informing you that you’ve reached the 43rd floor. You can’t help but feel a rush of disappointment now that your ride with this man is over. You wish you could channel some of that mock confidence he was just talking about and ask him for his name. But as luck would have it, you can’t make yourself speak.

“Well, this is where I say goodbye,” the man says as he fixes the sleeve of his jacket - not quite a suit but much nicer than your average sweater. “Good luck on your interview!” he cheerfully says as he steps out. “Remember, you’re great, and you go this.”

You can hear the echoes of his voice greeting staff members as he turns to make his way down the hall. You longingly watch as the doors close slowly. You suddenly found a motivation other than paying bills and eating for wanting this job. And it just so happens to be heading for a meeting.

#Bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #actor!bucky #actor AU #marvel au #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #clandestine meetings

[maybe-its-micheal]

Like an Orange Spark...

/rp /dsmp

Ghostbur watched as Dream, Tommy, and Techno talked. He was sure he had just known what they were discussing, but now the context seemed to slip through his fingers... he was used to the feeling, though, and shrugged it off. He tried for a few minutes to pay attention, but kept forgetting what everyone was talking about, amd decided to do something else. He turned his back to them, and let his eyes wonder across the snowy landscape.

It was really was a lovely day, the leaves of the spruce trees swayed slightly in the chill breeze, leaving shadows dancing on the ground. A few small bushes peaked up over the snow, dotted with red berries, and the sun sat in the center of the cloudless sky. Ghostbur heard a slight rustle from a near by bush, and spotted a hint of blue from behind it.

"Listen, Techno, you owe me. Im calling in that fav-"

"Friend!" Ghostbur yelled, interrupting whatever it was Dream was on about.

Techno's expression, a mix between anger and concern, shifted to pity as he looked over at the ghost. It was odd seeing the man who he'd once fought alongside like this... he was a capable leader, and a dangerous enemy. But that was in another life...

Tommy was tense, and flinched as Dream snapped his head around to glare at Ghostbur. He grumbled something under his breath before turning back to Technoblade. "Look. I dont want to make this a big thing-" Techno put a hand up to interrupt as he gave Dream a serious look. He turned to Ghostbur, handing him a lead.

"Hey, Ghostbur. Me and Tommy need to talk to Dream, but I saw a patch of blue flowers on the other side of the village. How about you take Friend and see if you can find them?" He asked.

"Ok!" He responded excitedly. Blue was his favorite, he was always looking for more. "You guys have fun!"

He tied the lead to Friend and ran his grey fingers through the soft wool. He turned to go, hearing a few hushed sentences as he walked off.

"He shouldn't have to watch something like this," Technoblade whispered.

Dream scoffed. "Not like he'd remember anyway. But now that he's gone, I want Tommy to..."

And the voices trailed off. Wilbur decided to fill the quiet by talking to friend- that always cheered him up! "Today I've been spending lots of time with Technoblade!" he told the sheep. "We brewed a whole bunch of invisibility potions together, it was lovely. You know, I think they may be his favorite kind of potion, he kept going on about how much he wanted to share them with Tommy." He gave a slight chuckle, then stopped walking. He turned around to look back at the group. "Technoblade seems to really like Tommy. I cant imagine why..." he said with a jokey smile, eyes fixed on Tommy. He was a bit hunched over, still looking at the ground. Every so often he looked up, nervously glancing to Dream with big, glossy eyes, and then looking back down. Ghostbur frowned. "Maybe that was a bit mean to say. I was only joking," he clarified to Friend. "Tommy isn't all bad."

Ghostbur turned back around and kept walking. On his way to the village he got to thinking about Tommy... he could be really annoying, there's no denying that, but he also had a lot of good qualities. He remembered when they were first making L'manburg together; those were good times. Tommy had been very brave, then, and determined too. No matter how grim a situation looked he never seemed to be afraid of Dream, he just kept going. Maybe he was just a naive child, but in the end... the details were fuzzy, but Ghostbur was sure that in the end it was Tommy who did something to secure the future of their nation.

In the quiet he couldn't help but overhear some of the conversation taking place back over the hill. Their voices were getting louder, maybe they were all excited about something. A smile dawned on Ghostbur's face- maybe they'd sent him away because they're planning a surprise party! He stopped walking again, and did his best to listen.

"I am not handing him over to-" Techno's voice yelled.

"... control over... give it to me! Him. Give him to me!" Dream responded.

"You've done enough dam..."

"... never should have trusted..."

"I dont want to kill you."

It was hard to keep track of who was saying what, but it didn't sound much like party planning. Ghostbur went back to walking- he could see the wooden roofs of buildings in the distance, which meant he was getting close to the village.

In all the yelling he wondered why he couldn't hear Tommy's voice. Maybe he just hadn't listened hard enough- that was probably it. Being quiet is quite unlike Tommy, Wilbur thought.

"Come on, Techno... favor... my..."

"I dont want... can't betray him agai..."

"...Im sorry."

"Theseus."

Theseus... he wasn't sure why, but that name lit something up in the back of his mind. It was only there for a moment, like a flickering spark. A memory. Phil had told him and Techno about Theseus when they were kids... it was a bedtime story, he thought. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and shut his eyes, trying to focus on it, and see if he could get the spark to come back. Friend looked at him with a tilted head and bah'ed, as if to ask why they stopped walking.

"... can make a deal..."

"Hand him over... want..."

"I'll never fall for..."

"He's just a kid, Dream. He..."

Wilbur could see the spark in his mind- a little glowing dot of orange bouncing around in an infinite void of grey and blue darkness. Then, all at once, the spark lit up, erupting into a flame that filled his entire mind. Ghostbur jumped backwards with surprise, falling into the snow.

His mind took him back to another time; another life, when he was another person. The war was still going on, the first one with Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy. Eret had already betrayed them.

In his mind, he saw Wilbur- himself- no, Wilbur- standing on the banks of a lake back in Dream SMP territory. An oak path stretched over the water like a bridge, and Dream stood to one side, Tommy on the other. They both held a bow and a few arrows.

Fundy and Tubbo were there with him, and so were George and Sapnap. Everyone was deadly silent, except for Wilbur. He was counting, loud and clear, his voice echoing over the scene.

"...in it for me..."

"...give you... ever want..."

"Fine, its a deal."

"...I'm sorry, Tommy..."

"... Theseus... cliff... the person he took refuge f..."

"...faster."

"... seen it coming."

The talk was drowning out the memory... the firelight was flickering, and peices of the scene were covered with grey darkness and splotches of blue again. Ghostbur was desperate to hold on, he held his head in his hands and pushed his eyes shut tight. "No no no no no," he muttered to himself, hoping for it to stay just a few moments longer. Through the fading light he heard his past self reach the number 10 amd stop counting... Tommy and Dream turned around to face eachother.

"Please, Techno, I dont want to go," Ghostbur heard from back in reality. Tommy's voice was breaking through his memory... it was all falling apart.

"Come on, Tommy. Take off the armor, don't make me do this the hard way," Dream replied.

"I dont want to, Techno. Hes going to kill me, please!"

"I'm not going to kill you if you cooperate. Hurry up," Dream barked.

The memory was almost gone. There was no more Fundy, or Sapnap, or oak path. It was only water as a heap of bubbles disturbed the surface. When they cleared Ghostbur could see Tommy struggling in the water. He was about to reach the air again, but then-

An arrow plunged itself through Tommy's heart, killing him instantly, and it all came flooding back.

He was snapped back to present day, and running back to the three. Friend was left behind in the snow. Dream shot Tommy. That was the memory, how Tommy lost his second life. Dream shot him. "You BASTARD!' He shouted at the top of his lungs as he sprinted back the way he came. "You fucking BASTARD!"

Then the darkness started to come back... Ghostbur balled his hand into a fist. Dream let out a yell... and it all went grey.

Next thing he knew, he was seated with Technoblade in the house. He looked around. "Oooh! You're brewing! Are you making invisibility? Thats your favorite potion," he told the pig. Techno looked up.

"No, its... harming." He replied. "I thought- you know since you're undead it would work kind of like skeletons and zombies."

"Aww, it's for me? Thanks! But why would I need to heal?" He paused, feeling a bit cold. There was a draft- maybe a window was opened upstairs.

"Because-" Techno stopped and looked at the ghost. "Do you not remember?"

Ghostbur paused. "Hmmm... well I know Dream came to visit. And then... something about an arrow? No, that wasn't it... I guess I dont really remember. What happened?"

Technoblade sighed, and set the potion down. "Nothing big. Im just glad youre ok."

Ghostbur laughed, "well yeah! It's not like I could die again!" That draft was getting big- he looked down.

"Oh." He said. There was a massive hole in his yellow sweater, but the grey akin underneath was left unharmed. "How did..?"

"Dont worry about it. Phil is already working on making you a new one, too, by the way. It'll be blue."

Ghostbur gasped. "Oh my god!" He exclaimed with a smile, "thats my favorite color!"

Technoblade chuckled. "I know, Ghostbur. I know."

"I should tell Tommy," the ghost decided. "Where is he?"

Techno's face fell. "He... had to leave."

Ghostbur shrugged. "I don't remember that, when?"

"Just a few minutes ago... he went with Dream."

Ghostbur smiled pleasantly. "Thats nice, they really are such good friends."

"Yeah..." Technoblade replied. "Friends."

#wilbur soot #technoblade #tommy innit #tommyinnit #dream #dreamwastaken #dream was taken #mcyt #mcyt fanfic #mcyt fanfiction #dsmp #dream smp fanfic #dream smp #dsmp fanfic #dsmp techno

[nebulablakemurphy]

Full Bloom

Summary: Before Neville goes back to Hogwarts, he helps Y/N plant a garden. When he returns everything is in full bloom. 

A/N: Written for A Very Harry Potter Summer with the prompt ‘garden work.’ Special tag for @lupins-sweater​ happy birthday! 🎁 (Be sure to send her lots of frog pictures and or Remus fan art!) @eleven-times-lively you are not on my tag list but still wishing you the happiest of birthdays!

Masterlist

You first notice Neville Longbottom at age five. He’s been your next door neighbor for just as long. Despite his grandmother’s wariness, the pair of you are drawn to each other like a moth to flame.

Neville is special. Although the thought never really occurred to you, until his eleventh birthday.

When he pulls you aside to say he won’t be returning to school with you in the fall. This, of course, shatters your heart into a million pieces.

You were going to lose your best friend. In a mix of anger and shock, you don’t wish him safe travels. How could he leave you for a stupid boarding school anyhow?

Despite yourself, when he returns, you can’t help peeking between the slots in the fence. Catching him reading over a newspaper that appears to move by itself.

As the years go on, Neville begins to open up a bit more. About magic and Hogwarts, the special school only wizards can attend. Naturally he’s not supposed to share any of this with you; and could get in a fair bit of trouble for doing so. But you’re very persistent and above all else, Neville knows he can trust you.

You’re sixteen when he finally kisses you, only goodbye and only on the cheek. But you swear you’ll never want to kiss anyone else.

There are other boys. Normal, available, boys, who don’t leave for part of the year. Only none of them are Neville, therefore none of them are good enough.

————————————————————-

Things grow darker in his word, you can tell by the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You can feel it in the way he avoids speaking about magic. And the way he tries to direct the conversation away from him and back toward you.

You don’t push, instead you begin searching for ways to ease his nerves. Plants and herbology always seem to do the trick.

Your family’s garden is barren and has been for sometime. Although you have nothing akin to a green thumb, you’re ready to give it a go. You drive up to the nursery that day and return with a trunk full of flowers.

Neville spots you from his bedroom window, rushing over to help unload the plants. “These are beautiful.” He points toward the forget me nots. “They’ll bloom every year.”

“So it’s impossible for me to kill them?” You inquire, hopefully. “Because I can’t keep plants alive to save my life.”

“Do you want to know the secret?” He says, leaning a bit closer.

“Magic?” You reply, cheekily.

Neville shakes his head, no. “Love the plants and the plants will love you.”

“You can’t be serious.” You scoff at the idea, that’s ridiculous!

“Try it.” He insists.

“I don’t believe you,” you say, giving him the side-eye. “But it couldn’t hurt.”

Once you’re all set up, you begin shoveling dirt, to make a proper hole. Effectively flicking it up at yourself instead.

Neville chuckles, having perfectly executed the same task.

“Shut it,” you swat his shoulder.

“You’ve got a bit of dirt,” he motions to your nose.

“Here?” You ask. Wiping your hand over the spot in question, only serving to smear it about your face.

Neville smiles, moving toward you. “I’ll get it.”

———————————————————————-

When Neville leaves that year, you can sense he’s heading into something dangerous. Even before he tells you.

“I don’t want you to wait for me, Y/N. I don’t know if-“ he breaks off, “when,” he corrects himself. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ve been waiting for you since I was five.” You remind him, “seems silly to stop now.”

Mustering the courage, Neville takes your face between his hands. Eyes searching yours, then leaning down; his mouth ghosting over your own.

His lips are slightly chapped, he tastes of childhood and the bittersweet unknown. And you want to remember him, just like this. So you weave your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Pulling him closer and keeping him there.

——————————————————————

Then you wait, just like you always have. Through Christmas and the warmer months. Your garden flourishes nicely, just as Neville promised. Sunlight, water and love have brought the buds to fruition.

“Y/N,” the voice, his voice, startles you.

It’s far too early for Neville, he shouldn’t return from school for weeks. But here he stands, perfect as the day he left.

“Neville, you’re back.” You greet him with an embrace, that sends you both stumbling backwards.

“Y/N, this is brilliant.” He beams, eyes alight with wonder.

“Think the plants love me yet?” You pull away, enough to see his face. Checking for any obvious signs of damage.

“They’d be mental not to,” Neville smiles. Taking in the beauty that surrounds him.

This time when he kisses you, there’s no hesitation. He tastes of hope and things yet to come.

—————————————————————-

It’s not for sometime after the wizarding war that you finally have all the details. Mainly because it’s very hard for Neville to speak about, and you respect that.

With his confessions come healing. Years pass easily between you; he’s more himself, happy again. Eventually he drops down on one knee, asking for your hand in marriage. An offer you eagerly accept.

Married life is kind to you. On your two year wedding anniversary, you run out into your garden. Unable to contain your excitement, you scream at the top of your lungs, “I’m pregnant!”

Neville drops his shovel, rushing to sweep you off your feet. Spinning around in circles, until you’re both dizzy.

Your belly grows, full of new life. The beginning of a family you and Neville once dare only dream of. He’s more than happy to maintain the plants, once it becomes too uncomfortable for you.

Stepping out barefoot, onto the soft grass of your shared lawn; you spot your husband, watering the new growth. Raising a hand to your brow, to block the sun, you make your way over. “Hey Neville, how are my flowers fairing?”

He turns away from his work, with a radiant smile. “Very nicely, they’re in full bloom.”

Taglist: @bforbroadway @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @chaotic-fae-queen @a-mexican-waffle @obsessedwithrandomthings @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @haphazardhufflepuff @peachesandpinks @iliveiloveiwrite @hufflefluff-writer @masterofthedarkness

If you enjoyed this, please be sure to check out all the other amazing works written for A Very Harry Potter Summer. The masterlist can be found on @hufflefluff-writer’s blog! 💕

#neville longbottom x you #neville x y/n #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom imagine #neville x you #neville imagine #neville longbottom #neville #harry potter #harry potter imagine #a very harry potter summer #neville x reader #neville longbottom x muggle!reader #neville longbottom fanfiction

[retvenkos]

beneath the snow filled sky | z.

ATLA - Modern! AU, Zuko x Reader, fluff

tw: none.

word count: 1.4k

prompt: We’re going out in the cold for a walk, and I know you don’t want to get wet, but I’m trying to convince you to make a snow angel with me.

Snow fell peacefully above, spiraling down from the night sky as though each flake was a dancer in a beautiful balet, flitting this way and that, whichever way the music took them. (Y/n) watched the snow from their place beside the front door, their mind vaguely aware of the music playing within Toph’s house, but their entire being focused on the icy beauty of winter.

There was no breeze, and the weather was slowly turning more mild with the hopeful onset of spring; it was a perfect night to sit outside, in nothing more than a sweater and appreciate the wonder that such cold brought. 

They hadn’t been out for long when there was movement at the door, and Zuko stepped out. “Hey,” he said softly, rubbing his hands against his arms. 

“Hey,” (Y/n) echoed, smiling at him gently before turning back to the night sky, clouded and dark, but with the most beautiful, pristine snow gracing them from above, falling delicately before kissing the ground. For a moment the two stood in silence, (Y/n) noticing the patterns in which the snow fell, and Zuko memorizing the look of wonder in their eyes and the steady manner in which they existed.

They both thought, for a moment that was beyond time itself, that if the world were to stop turning, they could happily spend eternity right here, in the mild cold.

“So,” (Y/n) broke the stillness with an ease unlike any other, “did the others ask you to come get me? Because no offense to them, but I’d rather not suffer through another game of Monopoly.”

“Oh—” Zuko cleared his throat, pulling himself out of his daze “—No, not yet, anyway. Sokka wants to play Uno, but Katara wants to watch a movie, so...”

“...They’re not going to figure it out for another twenty minutes or so.”

Zuko chuckled in a way that was mostly breath, something like a cheerful sigh that brought a contentedness into his eyes and a casual grin to his lips. (Y/n) stuck their hands in their pockets, only now starting to feel a chill.

“Do you want to go on a walk with me?”

“It’s one in the morning.”

“Yeah, but would you rather listen to their complaining?”

“You’re not cold?”

“Not if we get moving.”

Zuko looked out at the frozen world that surrounded him: the snow, the icicles, the slick patches of ice where even the best of shoes lost their traction, and the frigid air. How any of it could be the least bit enjoyable was beyond him, and yet, (Y/n) could never get enough of the winter months, and whenever they spoke of its beauty, there was an earnestness in their voice that made him believe in their sentiment. Part of Zuko wanted to just go inside, sit by the fire, and watch the room devolve into chaotic arguing. Toph and (Y/n) would sit on either side of him, and they’d make sarcastic remarks until Katara dragged Toph into the fighting and things would escalate until he or Aang eventually intervened.

But a nagging part of Zuko (smaller, but incessant nonetheless) told him to look at (Y/n) in the eye, knowing that once he did, he wouldn’t be able to say no. It was odd, knowing that part of him no longer existed for himself, and the fear of that knowledge was enough to convince him to go back inside, but then (Y/n) shifted beside him, asking him what he thought, and he looked.

And there they were, smiling in a way that would have been self righteously smug, had it not been for the hopeful question that swimmed in their gaze. 

“Let’s go.”

(Y/n) smiled and the expression didn’t melt away but rather lingered as they set off down the snowy sidewalks, going nowhere in particular. Zuko rubbed his icy fingers together, wishing he hadn’t left his gloves in the pocket of his coat, back at Toph’s, and when (Y/n) noticed his fussing at a street corner, they stopped.

“Come here.” They offered their hands to him, and Zuko hesitated for a moment before putting his hands in their open palms. The rubbed their hands over his, and the warmth they generated was enough to send his cheeks ablaze. “You’re fingers are freezing! We really should have gotten coats or something before setting off - at least we both have sweaters, though.”

And Zuko couldn’t get anything out other than a strained “Yeah,” that made (Y/n) chuckle.

“C’mon, we’ll finish the loop around the block and then we can head back inside.”

(Y/n) continued to walk, but their hands never let go of his. Zuko found himself acutely aware of the feeling of their hand in his, warm and alive - squeezing his with care and something akin to... well, like the raging fire he felt in the pit of his stomach, but kinder, softer.

“What do you like about winter?” Zuko surprised even himself, and (Y/n) turned to him with an expression more warm than the last.

“Everything, I guess.” They turned their head to the heavens and a snowflake fell on their cheek. “Sure, the snow is beautiful and all, but it’s more than that, too. Winter it... it brings people together. I mean, when was the last time we all got together and played Monopoly?”

They had a point, there, but whether playing a three hour long game of Monopoly was for the better was debatable.

“The days just seem longer in the winter, and you find time for everyone you’ve been missing. Sure, it’s cold and most everyone is miserable” —(Y/n) eyed Zuko pointedly and he faltered— “but then you comes together to celebrate what little you have.”

They were back at Toph’s, now, and they faced the front door with a sense of reservation, as though neither wanted to break the moment, just yet. Zuko looked at (Y/n) from the corner of his eye, and they locked gazes. “You always have us.”

(Y/n)’s eyebrows shot up, their eyes lighting with something bright and pleasant, and eventually they settled. They squeezed Zuko’s hand. “That I do.”

Shouting erupted from the house in front of them, strong enough to rattle the windows, and Zuko and (Y/n) sprung apart. They both hesitated for a moment before laughing, the sound warm and from the belly.

“Do you think they’ll kill each other in there?”

(Y/n) rolled their eyes. “I’m sure they can sort it out themselves. Besides, have you ever made a snow angel before?” Zuko found himself caught between an exasperated laugh and some sort of stammered response, and (Y/n) snorted. “If you haven’t, then I demand to teach you.”

“I’ve made one before!” 

“Then you won’t mind proving it?”

“(Y/n), I’ve made a snow angel before!”

“Then come make on again! I promise not to tell Sokka, if it’s that damaging to your pride.” (Y/n) sat down on the snow, a challenging smile in their eye. Zuko opened his mouth to speak, but (Y/n) cut him off. “And don’t say anything about getting wet, because we’re five steps from the house. We’ll be beside the fire before you even get cold.” (Y/n) laid back, spreading their arms out and fixing Zuko with a pointed look.

“I’ve made a snow angel before,” Zuko grumbled, laying down beside (Y/n) and eliciting laughter from them.

“You’re cute when you’re angry - y’know that?” 

And Zuko was glad that they were both moving their arms enough to hide the way his face heated up at their comment. 

(Y/n)’s arms slowed to a stop, they were quiet as they stared up at the night sky above, once again lost in the beauty of it all. Zuko brought his arms to a stop near theirs, so that their fingers were just barely brushing, and he looked at them with a fondness that made him look peaceful - happy, even.

“You really love the snow that much?” and it was barely a whisper, but (Y/n) heard anyway. 

They turned to him, and fixed him with a smile that was more bashful than before, something that made Zuko’s heart beat faster in his chest, perhaps from the intimacy of it all. It was just them beneath the snow filled sky, after all, blanketed in the dark of night. “I love the company more than anything else.”

And Zuko felt his heart constrict in such a way that all he could get out was a strained “Yeah?” but it made (Y/n) chuckle as they caught his fingers in their own.

“Yeah.” 

-- taglist: @coffee--writes​ // message me if you want to be added to the taglist!

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko imagine #zuko one shot #zuko fanfic #imagine #one shot #fanfic #fluff #holiday prompts #reader insert #gender neutral reader

[ssajj]

Daisy

You're a stripper and you meet Dr. Spencer Reid on a case. He's interesting in a way men aren't usually.

2.1k

Warnings for language, kidnapping, non-graphic violence.

(this is my first reader insert. hope it's okay ✌)

The colors alone always feel like enough to get you drunk. You can spin in them in hours, throwing your head back and basking under their heat. You don’t know what it is about them. The others like to laugh and tease you about it, even if they seem to understand that they really mean something to you. You don’t know what, though. Those are always your best shifts; making the most money and with your favorite customers. The nights without them are always the worst, but you try to make it up with bright glitters and higher heels. 

It’s still pretty early. Only a handful of people have wandered in so far and three of them are seated firmly at the bar, refusing to even look at you and the girls. It’s hard for you to not roll your eyes at them. If you’re going to come into a strip club, don’t be so stuck up that you can’t look at the strippers. To you, that seems like an obvious thing. And yet. 

At least the lights are on. 

“Hey,” your best friend whispers, pulling at your shoulder so she can whisper in your ear. Neither of you are on the main stage, since the newbies tend to get stuck with the shitty sunset hours. Less cash. “Fresh meat.”

You look over to where she’s gesturing, a low whistle building in your throat. Two people are hovering at the entrance. You can already tell that they don’t belong. Their posture, their facial expressions. “Think they’re cops?” You ask. “Cops fucking suck at tipping.”

Without waiting for an answer, you start striding over there, thankful that you’re dressed, even if it isn’t close to modestly. 

A man and a woman. The woman has shiny black hair, gently curled around her shoulders. You’re briefly jealous of her bone structure before that feeling turns into something more akin to lust- you don’t look like her, no, but she’s hot. The all black ensamble, frankly, is doing wonders for her. She seems dominant and powerful. Maybe not your type, then. You’re a bit of a control freak. The guy, though. You lick your lips, looking him over as you get closer. He’s about as submissive looking as they come. His shoulders are hunched, hands crossed nervously in front of him. His eyes are darting around the room and you’d think he was looking for an exit if he wasn’t currently standing in front of one. He’s got some of the fluffiest hair you’ve ever seen and it shouldn’t look good on him, but it does. Really good. He’s tall too, towering over the woman, and- huh. Now you know it’s possible to be hot in a sweater vest. 

“Hey there,” you purr as you reach them, leaning against the table closest to them. You see their attention snap over to you, eyeing you up in down the same way you did to them. The man blushes and the woman arches an eyebrow. You just smile. “Anything I can help you two with? We do discounts for couples.”

The man sputters. “We aren’t-”

“SSA Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid.” The woman interrupts him, flashing her badge. He follows suit. “We’re here from the FBI.”

You put your hands in front of you, pretending that they’re bound together at the wrists. “You here to arrest me?” You ask, pouting. 

Emily rolls her eyes. Spencer shakes his head aggressively. 

“We’re here about the recent string of murdered sex workers,” Emily says.

You flinch, some of your tougher exterior slipping away. When you’re working, you try your best not to think about those girls, the ones that ended up in alleys with their stomachs cut open, their contents beside them. Four, so far. No one from your work, even if there were whispers that your luck’s running out. It’s only a matter of time.

“I didn’t think anyone cared about a couple of murdered whores,” you mutter, letting the bitterness seep into your words. You aren’t stupid enough to trust FBI agents anymore than you trust cops. “And I don’t see why that’s brought you here, anyway. None of them worked on this street.”

Spencer takes a step forward. “We care,” he tells you. You’re too smart to believe him, even if the gentle look in his eyes makes you want to try. You blink a couple times, trying to clear your thoughts. 

“Can we ask you a few questions?” Emily looks less gentle, although not unkind. Life’s made her hard, you think. Any kindness she has, she’s probably had to fight for it. It’s not a concept you’re unfamiliar with and under different circumstances, you think you could’ve been friends. 

You glance back at the stage before agreeing. “We can either keep yelling over the music or go to one of the private rooms,” you tell them, “But there’s a lot of velvet and leather in those.”

You take them into one of the rooms, but you aren't there for long. Most of their questions seem generic. Boring.

“Call us if you think of anything else,” Spencer says, handing you a card with his name and phone number on it.

You take it, tucking it into one of your boots. “And if I want to call you so I can hear your cute voice again?”

Emily has to pound him on the back after that one, his face on fire as he goes into a coughing fit. You can’t help but grin wickedly. Maybe you’d feel bad if his partner wasn’t laughing. 

“Oh, I’m so telling Morgan about this,” she says, electing a groan from Spencer. 

Once he’s mostly settled again, he turns back to you. There’s still a blush raging on his cheeks. You like knowing that you’re the one to put it there. “Stay safe, okay?”

“Sure,” you nod, like the other girls hadn’t begged for the safety, like they weren’t all on high alert already. If someone gets you, it won’t be because you were an easy target. “I could probably stab him with my heel or something.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Emily nods like you just said something smart, which is a little concerning. 

--

A week later, you reflect that you probably should have used your heel, considering your current situation. You’re in a dark, unfamiliar room, your vocal cords already torn apart from screaming so much. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter, trying to look at your surroundings. It’s hard to see anything and even harder to focus. Your head is pounding. You don’t touch it. You don’t want to feel the blood gathering and clumping in your hair. That’s a problem for later. If you survive this. “Fucking cute skinny FBI agent didn’t do shit for me. We’ll get him,” you mock, raising the pitch of your voice. “Biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. Should have caught him before he kidnapped me.”

You don’t know how long you’re in the dark before a door opens. A man you don’t recognize enters, making you scramble back to the furthest corner of the room. 

“Scared?” He asks. You can’t make out any facial features, even though there’s a voice inside of you that’s telling you he’s grinning. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, going for false bravado. You told yourself that you wouldn’t go down without a fight, and you were going to keep that promise. 

Then you notice that he has a knife. You have to force the fight back into your body, imagining that you’re back at the club, rainbow lights searing into your skin, making you powerful, making you invincible. You bare your teeth at him, a growl escaping. 

Survival of the fittest. 

--

“Y/N?” A soft voice rouses you from your sleep. It takes a few seconds for it to register in your brain, but Spencer’s the one speaking. 

Your eyes flutter open. “Oh, you’re blurry.”

“An ambulance is on the way,” he tells you. He’s cradling your head and you get a weird urge to cry. His voice is so soft. “It’s okay if you fall asleep, the idea that you can’t fall asleep with a head injury is mostly a myth. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

You believe him enough to drift off back to sleep.

--

The next time you wake up, you’re in a hospital room. The lights are blinding and white, making you miss your colorful ones. “I better get time off,” you groan. 

Someone laughs beside you. You turn to see Spencer again. 

"You're here."

He leans forward. "You sound surprised."

"Keen observation. Don't you have like...official FBI stuff to be doing right now?"

Spencer shrugs. "I wanted to make sure you were okay before I regrouped with the team."

"I don't really remember what happened."

"You killed him."

You frown. "No shit? Seriously?"

"JJ- she's another agent, you haven't met her- and I were the ones to go down to the basement. That's where he was keeping you," he explains, hands starting to wave through the air. "When we got down there, you were both laying on the ground. He was dead. Shot three times. You were shot once in the side. Thankfully, the damage seems to be minimal. You also have a concussion from when he presumably hit your head to capture you."

"I shot him?" You look down on your hands like you're going to see blood on them. They're cracked and dry. You flip them over just in case. Nothing, still. "I don't feel any different. Are you supposed to feel different after you kill someone?"

"There haven't been any studies on people's brain patterns right before and right after they've killed someone," Spencer shrugs, then pauses. "Although you most likely weren't looking for a scientific answer. Sorry."

"No, it's good to know."

Spencer fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, a small smile playing on his lips. He's got that same blush he did the first time you met him, the light one. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Has the offer to call you expired?" You ask, feeling bold. 

The blush deepens. "No."

You grin. "Nothing like getting kidnapped to set the mood, huh?"

You don't think he gets the joke. That's okay. 

--

A week later, you're on the phone with him, propped up on all the pillows your roommates could find in your little apartment. 

"Hey, cutie pie," you grin. 

"Hi, Y/N. How are you feeling?"

This was the third phone call. The same number as how many times you shot the man that tried to kill you. Each time, the first thing Spencer did was ask how you were doing. You keep lying to him. It makes guilt swirl around in your stomach. You tell yourself that it's okay, that he probably doesn't want to hear how you actually are. The feeling still lingers. You want him to care, you realize. It's nonsensical, you barely know him, but you want him to hold you when you wake up screaming, when you remember flashes of that night, and when you have good moments. And in turn, you want to get to know him. You want to see what his face looks like while you're dancing, you want to know what his degrees are in, you want to know what makes him happy, if you could make him happy. You want to make him happy. 

"I'm doing as well as I can be." It's the most honest answer you've given. "How's being a fancy FBI agent? Still on that case in Wyoming?"

"We're wrapping up, actually. We arrested our unsub this morning. She was going after unfaithful men."

You pause. "Good for her."

He sputters. "It's murder, Y/N!"

"I killed someone," you point out quietly. 

"You know that's different."

You do. 

Don't you?

Your hands itch. 

--

After a month of phone calls, you get to see him again in person. You're still healing, still scarring over, but you get to touch him. 

Neither of you ever bring up the conversation of defining what this is between you. When you see him, you race toward him, halting to a stop once you get close. 

"Is touching okay?" You ask. 

He gives you the biggest smile you've ever seen before pulling you against him. You fit snugly against him, his chin resting on the top of your head. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Touch is good. Thank you for asking."

"I'm a stripper," you laugh, pulling back enough to see his face. "We're big consent fans."

He hesitates. You can see his thoughts racing, can see him making a pros and cons list in his head. "Can I kiss you?"

Your lips split from your grin. "I've been waiting for you to ask, hot stuff."

#Spencer Reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #Spencer reid fic #dorothywrites

[thoseofgreatambition]

rosemary & mint

duet masterlist

description: george was rude enough to come into your work earlier that week and put you in an absolute tizzy with how handsome he was! you were determined to make him pay. it’s a mutual surprise though, when you discover how effective the tiny things can be in making someone lustful. after all, he’d called coming over a ‘date’ hadn’t he? 

author’s note: this is set in ‘98, so a little while after the war. so we’ve skipped ahead a few years from the ‘last’ update. i think y’all will love this, and enjoy the filth haha! this is the next part in @ickle-ronniekins​ and i’s series! hope y’all love it! 

warnings: sexual content, drinking. minors beware. 

length: 5.1K 

You never would have thought of yourself as someone who was cheeky. A bit of a ditz at times-- though intense healer training had landed your head outside of the clouds a bit more often. At least while you were working. 

Except when George had come in. You felt the familiar tingle and warmth in yourself grow once more remembering how it felt to touch his skin. It wasn’t fair! It was absolutely rude of him to become so handsome in the intervening years! If you weren’t in such a tizzy just thinking about the muscles in his arm you would write him a letter and give him a piece of your mind. 

You’d had your fair share of adult dreams. You were human after all. Your penchant for romance novels probably egged it on at least a little bit. George had inhabited every single one of them so far. However, that was the first time you’d come so intimately close to him shirtless, and you still felt more affected than any of those dreams that had come before. It was incredibly rude of him! Especially with that cologne. If he weren’t due to come over soon you would have locked yourself in your room with a quieting spell. A rude man! However, as you cleaned yourself up you grinned, you had a plan for payback! You’d remembered some crucial information Fred had imparted upon you years before when he was quite drunk. George liked legs and bottoms more than breasts and arms. Thus, you were in your best set of leggings, paired along with an older sweater-- one that tended to slouch off your shoulder. You’d even paired it with a lacy bralette. Reasonable enough for unpacking furniture. You couldn’t help but giggle as you looked at yourself in the mirror, tying your hair up in the sparkly ribbon he’d made for you a few years prior. He would see what happens when he was so rude and handsome! Payback! Now!

You noticed with a frown how wrinkled the pads of your right hand’s fingers were. With a flush you hide your hand inside the baggy sleeve. 

Hopefully he wouldn’t notice that. 

George wasn’t sure why he was nervous. It was you! He’d seen you only a few days before. It was fine. You seemed more nervous than you used to, but perhaps it was because you were at work? The memory of your fingertips dancing across his wound still made his throat clench. Everything seemed different and the same at the same time. Your smile, your jokes-- more grownup than they were before! You carried yourself differently too. He wondered if you thought he did as well. 

The cardboard handle of the six pack of beer in his hand felt as if it was going to leave a rather nasty bruise-- the perfect amount of sensation to get himself out of his thoughts. You still had the ribbon he’d given you. Still sparkling just as brightly as the first valentines day out of Hogwarts. Granted, he still had the ribbon you’d given him didn’t he? Still tied to his wrist. More brown than blue. Quite tattered after years of nonstop wear. He couldn’t take it off. It was what he’d hung on to during the war. The chance of seeing you again, when pushing you away, had hurt so bad. Especially when you’d seemed so sad about it. But now-- now was the chance to change that. To show he was grown up. To show you that things had changed. There was nothing more to worry about. He could completely and utterly love you now. He always had-- but he could finally show it. Perhaps. Perhaps if you didn’t love him yet-- he could get you to fall for him. To make your breath catch when you saw him. To make your pupils go wide. To make your fingertips itch to pull him closer. If George could make himself funny enough. Wonderful enough. Smart enough. You would fall in love with him. Hell-- he would take even the slightest bit of fancying. Whatever it would take for you to open up your heart to him. He’d be a good boyfriend, he thought. He would be a wonderful boyfriend. 

It was when he had to adjust his grip on the six pack again that he realized he’d lost himself in his thoughts at your doorstep once again. Frowning at his own absentmindedness, George knocked on the door. Unsure of what he was expecting, he still found himself blown away by you when you opened the door. Your small smile was the same, the way it grew wide and your arms flung around him to hold him close. All the same. His arms were clunky around yours, and while George always took care of where he placed his hands, he took an extra amount of care that night. He cursed whatever being-- if there were any-- who was up in the sky for this. You were wearing leggings, and George already found himself plagued by far too many impure thoughts to be occupying your presence. Still, you dragged him inside. Absentmindedly he noticed that your right hand had wrinkled fingertips. Perhaps you’d been washing some dishes. He saw a few in the sink. 

“Thank you for coming to help Georgie! It’s been positively dreadful. This is the first proper night off I’ve had in a while. Can you believe I’ve been paying rent on this place for a month now? And couldn’t move in?” Already, you were talking quickly like you would when the two of you were younger, remembering something unjust that wound you up so bad that George simply needed to buckle in until you’d gotten all the words out of your head. Bloody hell, you were cute when you got wound up about things like this. George made a very conscious effort not to look at your bum, and instead focused on the task before him. It was a tiny flat, with a small living room attached to a kitchen. Down the hall there were only two doors. Which he presumed to be your bedroom and the restroom. “--Maybe I ought not complain. I’ve been getting some extra money with the shifts I’ve picked up… and I don’t want to be ungrateful.” He could already see it-- the little circles looping around in your mind. You were doing everything you’d always done. Padding around in a circle as you thought aloud. Playing nervously with the ribbon in your hair. Fiddling with the baggy sleeve. It was like everything was the same and different at the same time. Because you stopped your walking, like you’d never done before. You giggled like he hadn’t heard before. Fixed the ribbon to tie your hair back tighter until it looked less like a bow and more like a shoestring. Like you’d never done before. The mustard colored sweater was draped off your shoulder, showing a lacy strap that George willed himself not to wonder about. “Sorry. I’m ranting. I’m just glad you’re here. I missed you bunches, you know.” 

He’d forgotten how easily you could fit your hand through his ribcage and steal his heart from him. However, he was just discovering how you could do the same to him in other places. He’d been in love with you through adolescence. You’d occupied every fantasy he’d had. However, he was still trying to work through the shock that he’d stumbled into something akin to a fantasy he’d had last fall. When you wore a dress with leggings. George hadn’t the foggiest what he’d done to bless him like this. Or a curse. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face. It was dopey. He knew it. He wondered if this would be the time that you finally saw through him. “I missed you bunches too.” The sting of the war seemed so eager to come back. How you’d cried when he’d insisted on staying apart and no contact. How his hands had shaken when he wrote back to your sweet note saying that you couldn’t write to him anymore. “You did?” Of course he did! How could you not tell? 

“Always. I missed you the whole time, silly.” It looked like you were proud of yourself almost, the little laugh as you tug him into a hug once again. It was baffling, but George couldn’t make himself care. 

You were back in his arms. And George was determined to win you over somehow. 

George had never quite felt like this before. The tension in the air as he watched you bend over and stretch to grab things and put your bed together. Your flushed face as you attempted to put on a fitted sheet all on your own-- the muggle way, you’d exclaimed. The giggles as he watched beads of sweat start to form on your hair line. Your hair falling out of place. He’d never seen that happen before. The way you kept wetting your lips in concentration as he reached up to hang your pictures. 

The way you looked at him through half lidded eyes when he’d had to take off his sweater until he was back in the t-shirt he had on underneath. When you offered to crack open the beer he’d brought, George was quick to accept. He needed something cold, before you noticed something rather embarrassing about him. It was when you were putting away your dishes while he had begun to set up your table and chairs that he finally thought of something to talk about. What had you been doing! Perfect-- a perfect topic. Very appropriate. “May I ask you something?” You looked at him over your shoulder, the little smile still on your lips, eyelashes fluttering. “Yes Georgie?” Perhaps it was because he was so goddamned turned on, or perhaps it was because the two of you had discussed far more sexual things before the war. “Is that uncomfortable?” You frowned, and turned to properly face him, “Is what uncomfortable?” His face was bright red-- why did it have to be something lacy? He had such a thing for lacy garments. “Your strap. For your bra. Isn’t it uncomfortable?” There was a look akin to pride on your face that George didn’t understand-- maybe it was something new? “It’s comfortable. The lace is very soft, and since it’s wide the weight is distributed well.” You walked over slowly to him, and George found himself automatically sitting down on the table-- as if something told him he needed to sit down for what was about to happen. “You can feel it, if you’d like.” Surely, he was hearing that wrong. Carefully, George kept his gaze on the half undone ribbon atop your head. Would that be what your hair looked like after a night together? It was when you giggle that he directed his gaze back onto you, “I can what?” “Feel the lace! You can see it’s not uncomfortable.” He watched you tug your sweater down a bit more, to expose more of your shoulder along with the edge of the cup. “‘Ts alright. You had a good question.” 

Lost for words, George gently reached out and laid his hand on your shoulder, thumb running over the black lace. You were right. “It is very soft.” He could hardly speak. You managed to step in between his knees so you were so incredibly close. Silently George studied the expanse of skin you’d exposed to him. How many kisses could he fit? How many hickies? How delightful would it be to rip this sweater off of you and cover your entire body with kisses? What did the rest of this look like? How soft were your breasts? Your thighs? Were your panties lace too? It felt like his entire head was spinning, and the spell was only broken when you stepped away with a giggle. “I told you!” back to unpacking dishes you went, standing on your tip toes for the tallest shelves. “I wear it to sleep sometimes. Since it’s not structured. With some matching shorts. Very soft. The silk is good since I get hot at night.” As George stood up, he realized he was uncomfortably aroused at the moment. He sat back down and tried his best to hide his lap. “Could you grab some water for me please, Y/N?” The odd smile you’d had all night was gone. Replaced with the sweet one he was so familiar with. “Are you thirsty Georgie?” 

“Very.” 

It was awful really. Awful how wonderfully you tucked into him. How easily his arms wrapped around you. How your nose felt against his neck as you nuzzled against his skin. Both of you half drunk and half awake. George had wondered a few days ago why his amortentia scent had changed to mint and rosemary after he’d seen you at work. It’d always smelled like sunshine and daisies. It was enough to scare him a bit-- was he falling out of love with you? The answer was no, he found now that you were tucked so delightfully against him as you sat on his lap. Playing with his fingers like you were fascinated by them. You’d changed your shampoo and your perfume. It just made him throb a bit more painfully for you. Then again, it could have been because you were sitting in his lap and kept wigging a bit as you tried to get comfortable. Drunk, and simply glad you were apparently innocent enough to not understand what you were sitting on, George kept his mouth shut. Something was telling him however, that this may have been at least a bit planned by you. He’d helped plenty of girls move in to new flats. None had worn perfume or sat in his laps. Or invited him to feel their bra. So perhaps-- perhaps-- you were interested in him even if it was a little bit. What did that mean though? He knew you weren’t the type for quick shags. Nothing wrong with it, but he’d listened to you prattle on about romance cliche’s and waiting for ‘the perfect time’ to know you weren’t trying to get him into bed. Or at least he was pretty sure. Didn’t matter either way-- you were drunk. He was drunk. Everything was off the table. That didn’t stop him from fantasizing though. George wondered if he was going to get home and tell Fred and be mocked for not realizing something obvious. Perhaps you just wanted to dress pretty? That seemed like something you would do. And to flirt a bit? You’d done that too at the hospital. Though he had started it. Maybe this was just flirting. And it meant that you were just a bit interested him, even if it was on a physical level. The idea that you found him attractive already made him swoon. Perhaps it was just enough to ask you out soon. Or to show you that he was more than just attractive. You were tracing patterns on the palm of his hand, your ear perfectly poised to hear the thundering of his heart. “You have big hands George.” “I do?” “Mhmm. They’re nice.” 

Tentatively, George rested one hand on your waist, and another on top of your thigh. It was a bit odd-- he was worried about being too forward, but he hoped that this wasn’t too rude. “Is it okay if I hold you like this?” “Yeah.” Your voice was soft, “I like it when you hold me.” It felt like you were blowing air directly onto the embers of his lust. He could show you how nicely he could hold you, couldn’t he? Sure-- George didn’t have experience in that fact. But he was eager to learn. He could learn for you. He would do whatever you asked for him to do. Far too soon, you were crawling off his lap to stand up, grinning down at him as you swayed just a bit while you giggled. “Georgie, do you want to stay the night? You’re too drunk to apparate home, and my floo isn’t set up yet.” He gave a short nod, he’d been wondering how soon he could excuse himself to get home and work out his frustration, but apparating while inebriated was an easy way to lose a limb. “Thank you. I’ll sleep in here.” granted, there was no couch in your living room yet, just a few more boxes. You gave a frown to his response, “No-- I’ve got a big enough bed. It’s a queen. We can share. You hurt your back this week! You can’t sleep on the floor. Healer’s orders.” There was a moment as he stared at you that he wondered if that was really alright before he finally nodded. If you were okay with it, then it was okay. You’d shared a bed before and cuddled for the night. Then again, there was a problem he would need to work out before he shared a bed with you. “Can I use your shower first, love? I don’t think you’d want me sweating up your bed.” There was the little smile on your face again, and George realized like a slap to the face that the sexual tension in the air was mutual. “You can use my shower Georgie. There’s loads of fresh towels.” As he walked into the bathroom, George wondered if you actually did notice that he was hard or not. It was as if he no longer had any sense about him. He’d been turned on for the past few hours and the idea of finally getting some relief made him throb so hard that his stomach clenched. George turned the shower to the hottest temperature he could managed before stepping in. His clothes on the bathroom floor, discarded haphazardly, his red hair stuck to his face long enough to nearly block his vision. With his golden eyelashes fluttered shut, George used his right hand to steady himself against the shower wall while his left and reached down to slowly begin to tease his cock, imagining your hands instead. 

When his grip became firmer he choked back a moan, cursing at himself to remain quiet. He needed to be fast enough that you wouldn’t notice anything was amiss. Have a quick wank, go to bed, wake up and deal with anything odd in the morning. “Georgie-- I’m going to get changed in my room alright? I’ve grabbed some extra blankets for you!” “Thank you.” He hoped his voice wasn’t so choked with lust that you would notice. The idea of you wearing the matching shorts you’d described earlier nearly made him cum already. The sexual tension was mutual wasn’t it? That much he could tell. Were you wet like he was hard? Were your hands jammed down your panties? Were you dreaming of him walking in, finding you like that and getting fucked senseless? Because bloody hell-- George sure was. There was a rather loud moan that George couldn't help but let out as he sped up his pace. His breathing ragged as he leaned against the wall. 

Pure lust was not something he had felt before. He hadn’t thought that it would be such a terrible thing to deal with. Hopefully he could deal with it before you wondered why he was still in the shower. 

You were desperately scrubbing your hands in the kitchen, annoyed at yourself for not being able to control your lust. Your fingers were wrinkly again! He would notice! Dammit. You were the one who was supposed to drive him crazy, and you’d just wound up desperately trying to work yourself to orgasm as quickly as you could so you could think straight. Git. Silly man. This wasn’t how the romance novel was supposed to go! He was supposed to see you, realize that you were a grown woman now and kiss you senseless. Breathlessly admit that you were all he’d ever thought of. All he’d ever dreamed of. Shag you until you were screaming his name as he whispered how much he loved you into your ear. Why couldn’t he ever play along? Oh well, you thought with a thrill of pleasure, you knew you’d turned him on at least. You’d been sitting in his lap after all. You giggled as your face heated up. You hadn’t thought about that aspect really when you had planned for the night. All your plan had been was to make him think you were terribly attractive based on what you were wearing, and feel the same sort of flustering you’d felt at work, but it seemed that you had brought it farther. Then again, you’d also made yourself more flustered than you’d felt at work. Satisfied that both of your hands were equally wrinkled now that you’d finished washing your hands, you smoothed down the oversized cardigan you wore over your silk pajama set. The shorts were rather short but it made you feel so cozy that you couldn’t care. You also reckoned you would look sexier without the fuzzy socks, but you were cold dammit! “Ah-- Y/N?” George called out nervously from the bathroom. Peaking your head down the hall, you gave him a grin before walking over. “Yes?” “Is it okay if I sleep in my shirt and boxers? I don’t have an pajamas here.” Immediately you felt your face heat up at the thought, “Of course! Sorry, I didn’t think about that. You ought to keep some over here just in case.” “Planning on having me sleep over more often?” Your only response came with a giggle, as you turned off the lights and crawled into your bed. “C’mon, bedtime.” It was an odd silence when he crawled into bed, normally the two of you cuddled immediately, but that felt like a less easy task now. There was more to think about now. You wondered if he could hear your thundering heartbeat. For a long time you simply stared at the ceiling, as you wondered if you ought to simply stay on your side of the bed. As much as your lust was screaming to roll over and shag him senseless until you were full of him, the shy bit, the romantic bit held you back. “Georgie?” “Hmm?” You could see him roll over to face you, and you covered your face a bit with the blanket, only your eyes peaking out. Why did you feel so shy now? All of a sudden? “Do you ever feel like-- now that you’re a grownup you ought to do things a certain way? And then confused about if you like doing it like that or not?” What a silly question! Silly girl-- head in the clouds. He was going to call you silly and laugh at you--

“All the time. Since I left Hogwarts.” Your eyes widened a bit, shocked that you weren’t alone in your experience. “Really?” “Mhm. It’s pretty common, Y/N.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand. “You’re not alone, you know. Don’t know why you keep thinking you’re odd for things that are normal.” You were grateful he couldn’t see how embarrassed you were in the dark. “Because I’m a bit silly.” “So? Doesn’t mean you’re odd.” It was with a chuckle from George that you found yourself being embraced, his hand so gently on your waist, his weight ever so slightly on you. It felt incredibly safe to wrap your arms around him. Like you were protected. Like the fear of being by yourself during the war was gone. The fear of having someone knock on the door and open it to doom. You were safe now. Someone was there. The person you wanted to be there, was there. You took a deep breath to soothe your nerves, and tried to relax despite the heat in between your legs growing once again. It was so easy to imagine him saying softly against your skin that he loved you. Or wonder what his long fingers would feel like drifting into your shorts. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” “Goodnight, George.”

Your sleep was restless. Punctuated by imagined kisses. Bites from your lover on tender skin. Pinches to your nipples through your thin top. George whispering into your ear asking you to tell him please, how much you wanted him? A delicious pressure to your core as your ground down on something-- his hand? It made you shudder at the thought. Little gasps as you heard him saying your name. Not wondering how so suddenly your room had been lit with candles or where his clothes had gone. And all of a sudden it was over. You were seconds away from orgasm and you were being jostled awake with concerned hands. Not a lovers hands. “Lovey? Y/N?” Tears sprung into your eyes from loss of imagined contact. “Huh?” “You were having nightmare.” You looked at George confused, before he continued. “You were shaking and gasping. Sweating and talking in your sleep.” 

He was still clothed. Of course he was. A dream. With a wash of embarrassment you realized your legs were locked around one of George’s-- and put together what exactly you were grinding down on in your dream. Perhaps you could crawl into a hole? His hand was so gentle on your cheek, his voice so full of concern. “Are you okay? What was it about?” Immediately you shook your head as you sat up straight. Nope. You couldn’t tell him that. An odd sense of guilt flooded you-- that wasn’t a good thing you did, was it? Was it a good thing to have such an explicit dream about him when he was right next to you? Or was it okay since he was attracted to you? Or perhaps that was the crux of it-- you had his physical attraction and not the emotional kind? Not the love? Perhaps that was it, he finally saw you as a grownup but not the kind of person he would want to date or love. Perhaps that was it? Why he hadn’t talked to you through the war? Nervousness and anxiety clenched at your heart and made you curse your clitoris as it continued to throb in blind lust. Why couldn’t your body read the room! This was not the time. Were you rude for dressing up like this for him? Was that a rude thing? You hadn’t planned on asking him to stay the night-- you’d have told Fred the same thing. Asked him to stay in bed as well. Then again you certainly wouldn’t have tried to do that to Fred-- “Y/N.” His voice was more firm this time, as if he was deliberately trying to cut through your thoughts. “What’s happening? Please tell me.” “Just..” your voice felt foreign in your mouth. “A weird dream. A weird one is all. I’m going to take a shower and calm down.” You slipped out of bed, not noticing his hand that reached out for you and dug around in your drawer for a pair of sweatpants along with a large sweater. Silently you left the darkness of the bedroom for the abrasively bright light of the bathroom. You turned the temperature to as could as the knob would allow before stepping into the stream of water with a hiss. This finally seemed to banish your lust away for a bit. Allow for more rational thoughts. Perhaps dressing up nice was fine enough. It was normal. You were an adult. You had a grown up job and your own flat. You could do whatever you wanted. Fantasies as well. You were an adult. You could indulge in your own fantasies. Somewhere along the line though you’d stepped into deeper water than you’d thought you would. Sitting in his lap was too far, you were sure. No matter how nice it felt to know that he also lusted for you. You’d found yourself in the odd section of the ocean where the water wasn’t technically deep enough to drown you, but it was deep enough to make you uncomfortable. The alcohol was still heavy enough in your blood that you were unsure of all the ins and outs of everything. After you scrubbed yourself clean, and bundled up in your fresh and pajamas you finally crawled back in bed. Expecting George to have fallen asleep. Except he hadn’t. He reached out to take your hand and let out a small noise of surprise, “You’re freezing!” “Took a cold shower.” “You’ll catch a cold, lovey.” “I’m a healer-- that’s an old wives tale!” 

There was a chuckle from George, “You can go over to the burrow and tell my mum that she’s an old wife then.” He couldn’t see you frown, but he could feel you swat at him. “I would never be so rude to Molly! She’s too nice.” “Just like she raised me to be nice?” “No, like she raised Fred to be nice.” “You’re a mean friend.” “Only because Fred is my best friend.” You laughed as George pulled you closer, the levity felt like it’d flooded back in the room. “I’m not your best friend?” “No, I’m so sorry Georgie. I’ll accept new applications in January, you can try again then.” “I plan on it.” Your head rested very comfortably on his shoulder. “Thank you for helping me tonight Georgie. I appreciate it.” “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. You know you have me wrapped around your finger.” Through the darkness you could tell he was looking at you a certain way. Almost expectantly. You couldn’t figure out why. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls, Georgie.” “Nope. Just you.” 

Again with the odd look. Like he was thinking you were about to say something or notice something. 

Perhaps another thank you was in order. “Thank you again, then.” He let out an odd little sigh and a chuckle before laying his head back on the pillow. “When I saw you again I thought you were all grown up-- but it’s nice to see you’re still you.” Your brow furrowed a bit, unsure of how to pick that apart. It didn’t matter though, because George was playing with your hair, no matter how cold and wet it was, and peaceful sleep seemed to be tugging you back into its hold. “Goodnight.” “Goodnight, Y/N.” He stroked your back until you finally fell asleep. What a nice way to let yourself doze off. Your dream this time around was much less based in debauchery. In fact, you could almost hear him say he loved you. 

It was a wonderful dream. 

taglist: @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasley @obsessedwithrandomthings @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @geeksareunique @insearchofnewdreams @lumos-barnes @thatfuckingliardavidtennant @slytherinqween @xinyourdreamsx @skiving-snackboxess @wildfire-whizbangs

@dwarfwizard-from-panem @diary-of-an-onliner @answer-the-sirens @woakiees @black-widow-fangirl @theheirofnightandday @summerstardust @whysoseriouspadfoot @chocok22 @myhopesareanchoredinyou @siriusblackisme @illusivedaydreamer @zeeneee @writingwitchly @wolfpotter12 @carolinesbookworld @pit-and-the-pen @summer-writes​ @peachesandpinks​ @gweaslvy​ @alpinewinchester​ 

#george weasley #george weasley oneshot #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader

[annabethy]

“don’t lie to me” + percabeth if u are up to!!!

“Don’t lie to me.” Percabeth teacher au!! <3

Annabeth couldn’t think of a better way to spend her mornings than with Percy. He was always so sweet and warm when he first woke up, making him the perfect person to snuggle up to in the middle of a New York winter.

The ride to work was no less lovely with her sitting in the passenger seat, a steaming cup of coffee that Percy had made “with love” in her right hand, and her left hand intertwined with his. Watching the snow fall in a comfortable silence was so delicate and magical, and it’s truly the best way to start her day.

As she’s walking into the school with him, hand in hand, she leans closer to him, using his arm as a buffer from the biting wind. Percy just gives her a lopsided smile, something akin to adoration in his eyes, and pulled her into his side. There weren’t many students around this early in the morning, so she doesn’t bother trying to separate herself from him. She doesn’t even know if she could because he’s acting as her personal heater, and that may be too good to give up.

“You look adorable,” Percy comments as he holds open the door to the school. “The red nose really tops off your whole look.”

Annabeth sniffles, trying to subtly wipe her nose with the hand that’s still holding a travel cup of coffee. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m being serious,” he whispers playfully, bumping her arm with his elbow and prompting her to roll her eyes fondly. He guides her through the halls of the front office, reaching for her hand and lacing them back together. “You always look pretty, but right now you look so huggable.”

She can feel the flush still on her cheeks, but she doesn’t know if it was from the cold or his kind words. Almost a year of dating and he still made her feel just as giddy as she did on day one. “I love you.”

“Couldn’t possibly love me as much as I love you,” he quips, but he presses a kiss to her temple before changing the subject. “So, I was thinking. After work, cuddles and a movie?”

“Only if we can get snacks first,” she says, biting her lip in a smile. If there’s anything she loves more than waking up next to the love of her life, it’s getting to spend Friday night with just the two of them. There were no kids to bother them or tests to grade. It was a time for the two of them to just exist with one another, and she cherished every week when she got to go home with him.

“We can stop for snacks, but then we’re watching Finding Nemo.”

“What’s with your obsession with the ocean?”

“I think clownfish are cute,” he answers, because of course he thinks clownfish are cute. “All fish are cute. That’s why I teach marine.”

Annabeth expected nothing less of him, and she decides to humor him. “Did you know I once had two goldfish and I named them Ren and Nephr?”

“Unique names,” Percy says, sidestepping a kid frantically making their way down the hall.

“They both mean kidney.”

“You would, Chase.”

“I also had a fish named Ornith.”

“That means bird,” Percy states.

“I liked the irony,” she tells him, taking a sip of her coffee. It’s still steaming in the cup, and it burns her tongue slightly. “Regardless, I think your obsession with the ocean is alarming.”

“At least I don’t go around screaming law of cosines,” Percy says, pointedly looking at her. “I didn’t even know what that was until you started crying about how stupid they were last week when you were grading papers.”

“That’s because they are stupid, I swear to god. They were all I-don’t-know-when-to-use-law-of-sines-versus-law-of-cosines like it’s hard!”

“I’m sure it’s so easy,” he says, but his laugh gives his sarcasm away. “You just have to accept that you were a fluke in the system, and no one will ever be a smart as you.”

Annabeth smacks him upside the head with her cup of coffee lightly but she’s still smiling. It’s moments like this that really get to her. She could just be herself around him, and they could tease each other but know that they love those things about each other at the same time.

She loved him.

Annabeth bites at the inside of her cheek, loving the way he looks at her out of the corner of his eyes, before she slowly pops the lid of the coffee off to try and get it to cool down faster.

Percy’s arm is snug around her waist, so she doesn’t look up as she continues walking. She blows around the rim of the cup, the steam swirling up in the air. It smells mouthwateringly delicious and it’s starting to cool off, so she brings it to her lips just as they round a corner, and—

Someone slams into them, and suddenly the only thing Annabeth can register is pain.

“Shit.” The scalding coffee seeps through her shirt almost immediately, and her skin feels like it’s on fire. The cup falls from her hand, the rest of the contents splattering on the floor, but she can’t be bothered to care as she tries to break the shirt’s contact with her blistering torso.

“—you okay?”

Annabeth’s mind comes reeling back as Percy’s voice reach her ears, and she can pick up the frantic edge to it.

“Annabeth,” he prompts again, his hand sliding down her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering him, she glances to the person cowering in front of her, and her skin is on fire for a completely different reason.

Octavian stares back at her, terror clear as day on his face, and she is about to explode. This kid was always the center of something, causing problems with every single breath he takes. He had no shame, and he always had the audacity to do whatever it is he wants to do, and now he’s ruined her favorite part of the day, and she can’t breathe.

“Octavian,” she says tightly, scrunching her nose in mock politeness. “Did you maybe think it would be a good idea to check where you’re going?”

The kid stammers.

“It would be smart not to go running around the halls and bumping into people carrying hot drinks,” she says, her voice dangerously steady. “God, you’re so—” There’s so much she wants to say, to scream, at him, but even in her heightened sense of rage, she knows she can’t, so she clenches her fist hard enough for her nails to indent her skin and she pauses for a second before she storms off in the direction of her room.

She doesn’t look to make sure Percy is behind her, too busy trying to hold back rising tears, and she really doesn’t know why she feels this way. All she knows is everything was perfect, and now it’s not.

As she unlocks her classroom door, Percy’s hand is settling over the dip in her waist. She steps inside the room, and she doesn’t know what exactly she was going to do except perhaps have a meltdown, but she never got the chance because Percy wastes no time before pulling his sweater over his head and holding it out towards her.

“What are you doing?” she asks miserably, still forcing back her frustrated tears.

“Take it,” he says, gazing at her earnestly.

Annabeth bites her lip, her eyes glossing over. He was too good for her. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out. She doesn’t know how to express what she was sorry for, but she has a feeling he knows.

“Don’t be sorry.” Percy’s arms seek out the bottom of the sweater so he can help her into it. He slides it over her and once it’s on, he reaches forward to tilt her head towards him so he can give her a forehead kiss. “It was an accident.”

“Octavian was an accident,” she whimpers, dropping her head against his chest.

She doesn’t understand why she feels so upset. She just knows that she doesn’t like the hole in the pit of her stomach or the tightness of her throat.

“Why are you so sad?” Percy asks, cupping her cheeks and pouting.

“Today was going so well,” she complains, wincing away from his fingers that go to wipe her tears.

And maybe she does know why she’s so upset. Mornings were her favorite time of day because she got to be with Percy. She got to see him in ways that no one else did and listen to his words that he doesn’t say when anyone else is around. When they’re at work five days a week surrounded by children, he didn’t get to show her affection in the ways he does outside of school. Morning was her chance to see that.

Never had something interrupted those perfect moments before. Not until now.

The moment had been so perfect, so private and loving, and it was destroyed.

“You told me I looked adorable,” she says, sniffling. It was the only way she knew how to explain the torrent of emotions she was feeling. “Now I have a big coffee stain on my shirt, and I look disgusting.”

“You still look adorable.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she chides.

“I’m not lying,” he says softly. “You always look adorable.”

She just drops her forehead back against him pitifully.

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” Percy says. “I tell you that all the time.”

“You’re a big fat liar.”

Percy’s lips tilt up in a smile. “I’m not. In fact, you actually look even better right now, all cute and warm in my hoodie.”

Annabeth looks down as though for the first time realizing she was wearing it. It was too big on her, but it smelled like him, the picture of a sunny day at the beach, warm on the sand.

“You’re so so so pretty, especially when you’re wearing my clothes.” Percy’s arms wrap around her squeezing tightly, and she feels secure in his embrace. “Don’t let this ruin your day. Octavian’s stupid. This isn’t new information.”

“But our morning is ruined.”

Percy squeezes her tighter, slightly swaying back and forth. “Lucky for you, it’s Friday. We can go home and pretend it’s morning again and take lots of naps.”

“And watch Finding Nemo?”

“Oh, yes. That part’s nonnegotiable.”

Annabeth’s lips pull up at that as she nestles deeper against him. “I love you.”

Percy’s response is an affirmative hum and a kiss on the top of her head.

So maybe her morning hadn’t gone quite as planned, and maybe she was overreacting just a bit, but there’s always tomorrow, and there’s always their Friday night snuggles.

As long as she has Percy, she figures everything would be alright.

#percy jackson #percabeth #annabeth chase #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #my writing #anon #asks #teacher au

[royallyjoon]

flower petal

credit for the gif goes to whoever made it and posted it first 🖤

yandere! jeon jungkook x reader oneshot

reincarnation au

you were once the queen married to the most well-known king of his dynasty, Jeon Jungkook. He failed to rule his kingdom properly, however, and took to prioritizing you rather than his kingdom. As a means of escape, you helped the people sneak into the palace and overthrow the young king.

centuries later, where you may have forgotten your place by his side, Jungkook will be all too sure to remind you where you stand.

note: (M/N) is for your middle name, and not your mother’s name just to avoid any confusion :) happy reading!

warnings: yandere themes, physical altercations

A.D. 1200s-1400s, North Drokest

“A king…does that mean I can be yours?”

He balked in confusion at the dark tone in your voice.

You weren’t meant to sound like this. Your voice was the honey in his tea to soothe his aching throat, the flower petals pressed between his pages in which he left a bit of his soul.

His queen would never speak to him with such a cruel, demeaning tone.

“Answer me.” Your voice got steadily louder. “You call yourself ‘king.’ You claim you rule over this sad, desperate realm but in reality, you divide. You cause turmoil. Your people aren’t happy. They starve, and they beg you for your mercy and you have none to give.”

The throne room was vast but straightforward. High walls and ceilings held up by ornate columns, decorated in every inch with the colors of the household. Red and gold banners decorated the walls, even the carpet leading to the red, plush seats of the golden throne was red with yellow lining. The tall, wooden doors of the palace stood behind you as threatening as the presence of the man before you.

 The space was empty, except for you and the king, as all the advisors and knights had been released from duty. You assumed they were happily spending their freedom buried in spirits, women, men, or something of the sort.

You stood before the king, the red and gold trim on his robes mockingly prominent.

“A king would not sit back in amusement as his land festers away with an illness, a virus that is the king himself. You poison your land, this land. You have absolutely no right to call yourself king. To me, you are nothing more than a child playing dress-up.”

He sucked in a breath, gazing at you curiously. This was the first time he was making this sort of expression to you and for some crazed reason, you thought your words were finally reaching the mind of the deranged man before you.

“As for me? I am anything but yours. My body is dust, my breath air. Everything that was given to me I intend to give back to this world. You lay no claim over me, just as you lay no claim over this earth.”

“A king is only as powerful as his people intend him to be. In accordance with your current state, the people have deemed you unworthy.”

Your words were accentuated with the crashing of the palace doors. Citizens young and old marched into the throne room, pitchforks and torches lit, clamoring for the death of the king.

His eyes never left yours as the crowds grew behind you. “So you have betrayed me, my love.”

“You lied to me. You promised that once you took the throne, you would change everything your brother and father stood for. The minute you placed yourself on their seat, you followed in their footsteps.” You had to scream over the chants now.

The crowds hushed as the village leaders climbed the steps to the throne, pausing beside you.

“This is not me enacting punishment against you, for it is not my place, but the responsibility of the people to remove a leader they deem unfit.” You said.

“This is how we end?” He asked, remaining calm. If anything, the sadness in his tone made you clench your fists tighter.

“We ended a long time ago,” you said.

Just before you stepped to the side and let the people take him away, you bowed to His Majesty one last time.

“Your flower petals lost color a long time ago,” You choked out, stumbling backward and rushing out the throne room.

Your voice was torn, he noticed. You had tears in your eyes.

That was his darling.

Breaking out of the cold, hard shell that was the woman before. You were there.

“(M/N)!” He called, watching your form retreat into the darkness. The leaders restrained him, but he fought tooth and nail to catch a glimpse of your form once more. “Petal!”

You froze, but only for a moment. You then continued on with a quickened pace, holding back sobs.

And all throughout the kingdom, up until the king’s execution, the only words that passed through his lips were your name.

In small, breathless whispers and desperate, ravaged screams.

He called for you, but you never came.

———————————————————————————

A.D. 20XX, a metropolitan city

“I don’t know why I took this course,” you muttered to your friend, sticking your phone inside your bag as you stood in line at the Treshiuan Art Museum.

The building was lined with obsidian rock, glistening in the morning sun. The steps were dark and slippery, and the glass walls that adorned the first floor reflected harshly against the material. Inside, the cool blasts of air from the ceiling didn’t make the space any more welcoming. You untied your sweater from around your waist and zipped it up.

“You didn’t want to be stuck with a science course for the optional summer colloquium,” Taehyung stated, carelessly flicking through a museum pamphlet. “You said, and I quote, ‘Memorizing old people, dates, their art, and its meaning would forever be easier than learning oxidation-reduction.’’

“But was I wrong?” you grinned at him as he rolled his eyes. Taehyung felt that you had a lack of appreciation for “the arts”. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate them; you just weren’t as interested as he was. You would never discredit the beauty (or lack thereof) and meaning artists placed into their pieces.

“Tell her she’s wrong, Jungkook.” The upperclassman pouted at your classmate, whose eyes were glued to the game on his cellphone.

“You’re both wrong for trying to interrupt me right now,” he muttered furiously slamming his fingers on his screen.

“Joumou University students, over here!” The art history teacher called your group out of the line, standing next to a tall, brown-skinned woman with dark eyes. She smiled ominously, eyeing your trio with something akin to amusement in her eyes.

“Good morning everyone,” her slightly accented voice rang through the students, causing even Jungkook to look up from his handheld game.

“My name is Ilyana and I will be your tour guide this morning. I have been told by your teacher that most of you know little to nothing about thirteenth to fifteenth century dynasty art. I am excited to tell you everything I can. Before we embark upon our journey to the past, are there any questions?”

“I like her,” Taehyung whispered in your ear.

“Same. Anything like ‘embark upon our journey’ would sound lame from anyone else, but she makes it elegant and exciting.” You whispered back.

Jungkook snorted and tucked his phone into his pocket.

“No? Then let’s begin. Our tour will cover pieces from the Drokest region.”

Ilyana led your group to the elevators spouting information about the formation of royal lines in Drokest, where you somehow managed to fit in with another group. Your stop was first, and as you stepped off the elevator, your jaw dropped in awe.

The room was covered wall to wall with blue, purple, and silver. Tapestries, silks, and paintings, all had the same colors with glittering figures and jewels.

“In this land, every dynasty had designated colors. The first family to rule, the Layvns, were crowned with shades of royal blue and purple underneath a full moon, depicted by the silver embroidery.”

You walked around with Taehyung and Jungkook, admiring the care and attentiveness put into the tapestries.

“They must have loved this family,” you noted.

“The royal line of the Drokest region, albeit short, was mostly highly favored,” Ilyana said as she moved into the next hall.

“Mostly?” Taehyung asked.

“That’s a story for later.” Ilyana smiled. 

You giggled and glanced over at Jungkook. He had his hood fully over his head, walking past all of the artwork without so much as sparing a look.

Like this, you passed rooms and rooms of bright, blooming colors. Pink and ivory for the second family, black and green for the third, and brown and ginger for the fourth.

As you passed through each room, the amount of artwork lessened. The number of tapestries decreased, the silk wardrobes became sparse, and the only consistent painting was that of the king and queen, possibly with their royal family.

You were with Taehyung, who was commenting on the horrible color choice the fourth family made when you noticed Jungkook sitting on a bench in the middle of the room. He had been downcast since before your tour of the exhibit started.

You left your energetic, argumentative friend and sat next to Jungkook. “You know, for the actual art major, you seem less interested in these pieces than me. Is everything okay?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I’m fine…the pieces are nice and everything. I just feel like…”

“Feel like what?” You gently pressed for him to go on.

“…I feel like I shouldn’t be here.” He finished. “Like someone hurt me and I don’t want to feel that pain ever again.”

Usually, you would push the feelings off with a joke, claiming Jungkook was getting in his feels because of the art and asking him if he wanted to play his hurt girl music. But the pain in his face told you a truer picture.

“Well, we’re almost done. After this next family, we can leave the museum and head back to the hotel. Or we can go to the restaurant you were excited to check out!” You said, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s only another half an hour. You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.”

Jungkook smiled weakly at you and you both stood as Ilyana called for the group to move on.

When your group entered the fifth room, it was a surprise for you to see only one painting. The room was bare of any tapestries or silks, and all of the lights were off, except for a single, dim light clearing the piece.

“Here, we have the fifth and final royal family of the Drokest region. We call them a family, but they were really just a royal couple. A young royal couple.”

“King Jeongguk and his Queen, (M/N). The two have quite a fantastic love story, full of tragedy, love, and disloyalty.” Ilyana smiled as if she had been present for the development of their story herself. “Gather for such a story, if you please.”

“King Jeongguk grew up in the palace a sheltered, careful boy. He did not have the same bloodthirsty, righteous drive his father and older brother carried. His closest companions were the walls of his bedroom; not even the chambermaids would speak to him.

“Jeongguk’s mother passed away at his birth, and he had never known the kindness of a woman’s touch. Legends say it was why he fell so hard, so fast for his future queen.”

“(M/N) was a little girl, the daughter of a flower peddler. She would stand in the streets of the capital city with her parents and older sister, charming people into buying a flower or two from her.”

“Jeongguk’s chambermaids would often purchase a bouquet of these flowers and place them in his room and the hallways of the palace. He adored their smell and look, pressed the petals between the pages of his book to save them, and talked to them in his extreme loneliness.”

“One day, the youngest prince escaped from the palace. He fled to the streets of the capital city, away from the brown and ginger flags of his father and pledged to live a simple life hidden amongst the commoners. During this short escape, he managed to meet the young girl as she and her family were selling his favorite flowers.”

Jungkook choked back a groan as he felt a sudden migraine hit. He stumbled his way to a bench and held his head in his hand as he tried not to draw too much attention to himself.

Images flashed before his eyes, with words and names that didn’t name sense. The clearest image was that of a young girl, with (h/c), (h/l) hair and the most beautiful (e/c) eyes. Her (s/c) hand extended a flower to him.

“Would you like to purchase a flower today?”

She grinned up at him, a few years younger and a few heads shorter. “I think it would look ever so lovely on your wrist or finger.”

He stood in awe until he heard the pounding feet of the palace guards.

“The palace guard found him, however, and dragged him back to the palace where he endured years of torment at the hand of his father and brother.” Ilyana continued.

Jungkook sat shaking.

How was he able to see the story in his mind?

“With every beating, the prince lost more and more of his humanity. The very viciousness that the king tried to instill in his own son was inflicted upon him and the crown prince. He slaughtered them and hung their bodies from trees in the mountains, letting the birds pick at their flesh. When nothing but bones were left, he had the soldiers throw their skeletons in the river.”

“Damn.” Taehyung whistled. You shivered, the feeling crawling down your spine.

“And once this cold-hearted prince became king, he had only one woman on his mind for him to marry. The same, precious little girl who offered to place a flower around his finger.”

“The king had her brought to the palace, where he essentially threatened her into marriage. At first, their relationship was tense but with time, the flower peddler’s daughter saw what was once in her young, sensitive prince. She brought out the best in him, hoping his kindness towards her could reflect more upon his actions in the kingdom.” Ever so often, Ilyana would pause and look you in the eye as she spoke about the queen. Her eyes carried a heaviness, a burden of emotions that you felt had no right to be turned against you.

“Unfortunately, however, it did the opposite and his reign got harsher, and the control he placed over his wife was suffocating. The citizens were taxed harshly, and corruption in the palace ran rampant. Jeongguk cared more for his wife than he did for being king. He was extremely possessive of her and forbid the chambermaids and knights from speaking to her. The queen eventually tired of this treatment and worked with the townspeople to overthrow the king. She disappeared in the night, and he was executed with her name on his lips. Thus, this was the last of the Drokest dynasty.” Your tour guide finished.

The room was hushed with the power of the story. Jungkook grit his teeth as more images flashed by in his mind.

The cracking of a whip against the air, the sting on his back and the smell of blood. His voice was hoarse from screaming.

The feeling of blood on his hands as he rid himself of his tormentors.

The joy he felt when he slipped a golden band onto his queen’s fingers.

The despair and anger that consumed him when she turned against him.

You had your eyes glued to the painting. Your chest ached painfully at the images of those two, young people. In every other portrait, the royal family is side by side staring cold and unforgivingly into the onlooker’s eyes. But in this portrait, as the queen grasps the king’s hands, she smiles gently. Her eyes are crinkled a bit, and the king beams as he turns his eyes on her.

How long must he have held his head in that position?

Since the beginning, I only ever had eyes for you. You are my saving grace, flower petal.

You turned, expecting to see someone next to you, but there was just empty space.

“Who said that?” you muttered.

Your eyes scanned the room for Jungkook, worried about how he was feeling after hearing the story. Perhaps it had hit him as hard as it hit you. Or perhaps it had made his uneasiness worse.

The young man stood in front of the painting, as close as the red rope allowed him. He scrutinized every aspect of the work.

Why did it feel so familiar?

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jolted. “Woah, are you okay?” You chuckled.

His eyes refused to land anywhere near you and his voice was currently not working, so he settled for a nod.

“The story must have gotten to you too. I was just thinking about how much love he had for her to break his neck staying in one position for the painting…” You looked at him searching for a laugh, or even a smile, but to your surprise, Jungkook had tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Jungkook?” You gasped out and reached to wipe them away.

He smacked your hand away harshly, his hood falling down to cover his eyes. Without another word, he stormed out of the gallery.

You were about to go running after him when Ilyana stepped in your path. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“What? Oh...yes.” You said. “In another life, I’m sure they would have made a great pair.”

Ilyana laughed gracefully. “I admire the way you think. Would you like to hear a little known fact?”

“Sure,” you said trying to hide your frustration as you watched your friend get farther and farther away. “Why not?”

“Rumour has it, King Jeongguk had the sweetest nickname for his queen.” Ilyana mused. “He called her flower petal.”

Your blood froze.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the summer was extremely hard. Ever since the travel colloquium, Jungkook had been ignoring you. Two weeks into the school year his behavior hadn’t changed. He would be with Taehyung, and once you walked up to the two he found a way to step out of the conversation.

There was a day when he stopped giving excuses, and it was the same day you stopped accepting them.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Taehyung asked as you were in his dorm room one night. The two of you were eating pizza and playing video games, as usual, relaxing from a busy, stressful week of adulting. He sat relaxing in his Gucci shirt and sweatpants. “Why are you and Jungkook so tense? Are you fighting or something? Did you two have sex over the summer and then things got really awkward, so you stopped talking?”

You spluttered, choking on a slice of pizza. “Tae, what? No! Absolutely not! I don’t know what went wrong--we were looking at that painting from the Drokest dynasty and he flipped out on me and hasn’t spoken to me since. I don’t know what I did wrong...”

“You shouldn’t let him treat you that way, especially if you don’t deserve it,” Taehyung advised. “Why don’t you confront him about it?”

“You know I’m not a very confrontational person. I don’t like getting into other people’s business. Then again, Jungkook isn’t just ‘other people’. So if he’s going through something, I should at least try to meet him halfway.” Your argument changed direction in a matter of seconds as you reconsidered your thoughts.

“Most definitely!” Taehyung cheered you on. “It isn’t too late, why don’t you go over to his apartment now?”

You hesitated but grabbed your bag. “Alright. I guess I’m off, then.”

Taehyung walked you to the door, hugging you goodbye.

On the way to Jungkook’s, you thought over everything you were going to say. Things ended so awkwardly back at the museum, you hadn’t the slightest idea what to do.

You passed by a familiar green and white sign, looking at the multiple flower bouquets and stands.

This would either go horribly wrong or horribly right, but it was going to happen nonetheless.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

You stood, shaking for some reason, in front of Jungkook’s door. He resided in a quieter part of the university town, a considerable distance from campus. 

When terms with you two were better, he would join you and Taehyung’s  “legendary” sleepovers and rarely had to worry about the distance. Lately, according to Taehyung, he’d been shutting himself inside his house. 

Jungkook was a good student--he’d show up to class, never handed assignments in late, and was virtually passing every subject. But for the past couple of days, his teachers hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.

You gulped. 

“Come now, (Y/N). You’re not walking into certain death here.” You spoke under your breath. “This is a friend of yours who is shutting himself away from you, and you care about him. This is serious.”

With that self-encouragement, you rang the doorbell twice and stuck the flowers behind your back.

It was quiet inside for a moment, but you soon heard floorboards creaking. The chain slid into place before the door slightly opened.

As he peered out the crack, he saw you standing there with a smile on your face. His eyes widened.

“Hey, Jungkook.” You rocked back and forth on your heels. “I know it’s been a while but...I’ve been worried about you since our museum trip...I’m sorry for anything I did to offend you back then and I would sincerely like to talk to you about anything you’re worried about.”

He eyed you for a few moments. Without another word, he closed the door and removed the chain.

“Come in.” He said quietly.

You smiled, entering with your front to his so that he could not see your gift.

Jungkook was never this demure before, you noticed.

The apartment was dark. All of the lights were off, save a single lamplight illuminating his desk. It looked like the apartment of a recluse.

“So you have willingly returned to me, my love?” Jungkook murmured.

“What?” You asked, turning your head to face him.

“What?” He replied, locking the door behind him. “I didn’t say anything.”

You laughed weakly, eyeing the lock he just turned. “Sure, okay. But on a more serious note...”

Rather than the usual doodles and pieces of artwork Jungkook would have strewn around his apartment, there were clippings of articles about the fifth king and queen of the Drokest dynasty pinned to the walls, curtains, and windows. From art reviews to historical findings, any piece of information he could find was stapped to a chalkboard near the desk like a considerable life map.

“Were you that fascinated with the king and queen?” You asked him. “I still find the ending unsettling. I kind of wish it had ended another way, you know?”

This was obviously dangerous territory, for the last time you tried to talk to him about them, he’d burst into tears.

Yet when you looked at Jungkook, his eyes were alight with a hope that had not been present before.

“Yes!” He said, beaming. “That’s why I’ve been trying to find out so much about them...I want to recreate ou-their story so that they can get the best ending possible.”

“That’s cute.” You chuckled. “I wish you all the success in making that happen.”

“What did you bring me?” He questioned. “I’m ever so curious.”

You blushed, ignoring his antiquated speech. “Funnily enough, I was coming from Taehyung’s dorm-”

You didn’t notice the way his face darkened.

“-and on my way here, I passed by a flower shop and saw these and, well,” You handed him the bouquet. “Aren’t they beautiful? I think they’d look adorable on someone’s wrist or-”

“Wrapped around someone’s finger, yes.” Jungkook took the flowers so carefully, treating them like precious glass. 

“Yes, how did you know?” You wondered.

“It was just a feeling...” Jungkook placed the flowers on his table and started preparing a vase for them. “...you know, (Y/N), when we were at the museum listening to the story, you didn’t feel anything strange?”

“Strange? No, I-actually, there was something a little weird. I thought you or Taehyung had said it to me, but after the story ended I heard someone calling me their ‘saving grace.’ But there was no one next to me the whole time.” 

Since the beginning, I only ever had eyes for you. 

Your head began to pound harshly. You grimaced and sat on a chair by his living room table. 

Your friend placed the vase in the center of the table, setting the flowers in the water. “So you don’t remember anything other than that?”

Jungkook’s voice was oddly menacing. He trembled in the darkness of his apartment.

“No, should I?” You said. 

Why is he shaking?

“You remember nothing of our past.” Jungkook lifted his head and those deep, dark, brown eyes were teeming with rage. “You remember nothing of your betrayal, yet your actions remain the same.”

“Jungkook, what are you talking about? I never betrayed you!” Your headache wasn’t getting any better and the situation had clearly worsened. 

“I’ve been using my time to find out any and all information about us,” He continued. “My death was broadcasted all over the kingdom, with the next ruler being the son of one of the village elders. You, however, you disappeared without a trace.” 

Your head was spinning too fast for you to understand. “Your death? The kingdom? ...Jungkook. Do you honestly think you’re the fifth king of Drokest?”

“I don’t think! I know I am!” He hissed at you. “I didn’t ask to remember, but now that I have do you expect it, all of it, to be water under the bridge?”

“Is that why you’ve been so angry at me?” You stood now furious, head pain be damned. “You think I’m the queen from the painting? You think I want you dead?”

“Like I said, your own actions betray you.” He gestured towards the flowers you brought him. “I can clearly see that history is about to repeat itself.”

“Those people are dead, Jungkook!” You finally burst. You had had enough of his emotional tantrum and gaslighting. “They lived, they loved, they’re gone! We are us! Here! In 20XX!”

Jungkook grabbed you by the shoulders and slammed you so hard against the wall you saw stars. But they weren’t the normal stars erupting behind your eyelids. 

The sky was lit with constellation upon constellation. A cool night breeze blew your (h/c) hair from your face. You reached up to brush it back for the hundredth time when another hand grabbed yours.

“For you, my love.” A young man with dark hair and dark eyes appeared next to you, holding out a beautiful hairpin. The flower on it was a dazzling red, and the beads that hung from it shimmered of gold and pink. 

You accepted the gift with a bow and trembling hands. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

When you tried to fix the ornament in place, your hands were shaking so bad it would not stay still. He gracefully took it and in one swoop, locked your hair behind your ear.

“I know that you are afraid of me,” he claimed as you stiffened. “I won’t pretend that I have not done some things others may consider atrocious...”

“Yet you have nothing to fear from me, darling. Should you give yourself to me, I promise you will see me anew.” He wrapped his arms around you so easily, as if they had always been there. “As a changed man, I will do better for you.”

You relaxed some. “Your Majesty-”

“Jeongguk.” He interrupted. “Please, call me by my name.”

You blushed and whispered his birth name. “I am afraid of you. I’m not crafty enough to lie in your presence. But there is something I have wanted to ask you since the wedding.”

“Speak.” Jeongguk rubbed his head into your shoulder. “Anything you ask of, I will comply with.”

You gently pushed him off of you so that you could look him in the eyes and it would not be taken as rejection. “Why me? My family and I have done nothing but vend flowers for years. I have no special meaning to this kingdom, I truly can not comprehend how I can be its queen.”

The king was still for some moments. “Your flowers were my only friends in this palace.” He muttered at last. “In this sad, cold place where I was confined to my room, I pressed the petals between the pages of my books simply to feel their smoothness and warmth later on.”

His arms, strong and constricting, still rested around you. They tightened as he went on, holding you to the point where you felt that you could not breathe.

“When my father and brother chose to discipline me into becoming like them every day, it was the love for your flowers that they tried to beat out of me. My love for you.” He smirked. “Clearly, it didn’t work.”

You shivered and resisted the temptation to look to the mountains, where the bodies of the previous king and crown prince were still hanging, swaying in the wind.

“I chose you because you are the reason I stay human. Since the beginning, I only ever had eyes for you. That precious day when we met on the market streets, and you offered to tie a flower around my finger. You are my saving grace, flower petal.”

With a harsh gasp, you were brought out of the memory. Your hands grasped Jungkook’s arms like a vice and your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath.

The vision..the voice...they were real.

Jungkook patiently waited for you to calm down, tsking as you slid to the floor still in his arms.

“That’s just like you, petal. Blaming me for not being able to recognize your wrongdoing.”

“So I was the...” you said. “And you were...we really...why?”

“I couldn’t tell you why, (Y/N). I hardly know why myself.” Jungkook said. “I laid here in torment since the summer, trying to find a way to prove to myself that it wasn’t real.”

“The visions?” You asked.

“Your betrayal.” He gritted out. “The way you sold me out to the villagers like some common criminal. I screamed until my throat bled, begging for you to come back and you never did.”

Your eyes widened with awakened fear. “I...it was...”

“Do you still stand by that decision?” Jungkook asked as he kneeled next to you on the ground. 

“I...had to...” You whispered. Even after all these years, your feelings hadn’t changed. He was destroying the country, you, and himself. “Everything you touched was poison.”

Jungkook let out a sickly, dark laugh. He wrapped his hands around your throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, bringing his lips to your ear.

“I suppose that alternate ending you were waiting for has arrived, then, hasn’t it?” 

You feebly kicked at the spot between his legs but he jerked back without removing his hands. “Don’t worry, petal. I’ll make sure we go back to being happy and in love. With that, we will have the perfect ending. We can start the sixth line that never got to be.” His voice was dreamy and his eyes were light, despite the fact that he was applying enough strength to your neck to choke you out.

“N..o...” you barely managed to get the word out. It didn’t matter how much you resisted. Jungkook had centuries worth of anger backing him up.

"Don’t make me break you, petal,” he brushed tears from your eyes and shushed you like a child. “Flowers can’t grow to be as beautiful as they can be if the stems aren’t intact.”

I never should have come, you thought to yourself.

“Yes, you never should have betrayed me. But it’s alright, (Y/N). As you said, those people are dead and gone. We will start anew in this century and this life...and perhaps even the one after that.” He smiled, looking down at your unconscious figure and stroking your hair.

“I don’t care how many lives I have to live if it means I can finally be with you, petal.”

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